


From the Ashes

by MoonlitPaladin (MoonlitStardust)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Creative Liberties, Established Shance, Fluff, Historical References, M/M, Smut, Soulmates, graphic depiction of violence, lots of fluff, shklance - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 10:20:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 52,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15022502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonlitStardust/pseuds/MoonlitPaladin
Summary: An artist, a model, and a personal trainer walk into a bar and the rest is history. Literally.In a time where meaningful birthmark brands are commonplace, the idea of finding one’s soulmate is hardly farfetched. Brands complete upon shared verbal and physical interaction with one’s cosmically deigned soulmate, shifting from partial to full artwork. The meaning of each brand is significant to the mates, specifically to a past life they shared together. It was theorized that if the fated lovers were able to decipher the meaning behind their brands, they would gain not only the memories of their time together from that life, but they would also stand to inherit the skill sets they had once possessed. This theory, recently proven, has led to more interest in chasing the past.What is to happen, then, when a trio discovers that soulmates doesn’t necessarily designate ‘two?’ How are they to cope with the knowledge that something, in the grand cosmic scheme, has led to the three of them being destined to find one another? Three people, three struggles, one shared tale of triumph and understanding-One shared tale of love





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Inked](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7680856) by [MoonlitStardust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonlitStardust/pseuds/MoonlitStardust). 



> This story will update sporadically and I will not have a set schedule for it as it is a side project. I do expect its length to reach around 80-100k. Currently, it is up to 40k. Also, my playlist for this fic can be found [\--HERE--](https://open.spotify.com/user/moonlitstardust/playlist/0U1D24PjXCV0TjBZ9M60Sw?si=IUob9LFHQQeSpl1lzt-Fzw)
> 
> I hope you enjoy this story and have a wonderful day! Best wishes!
> 
> # ☽ MP ☾

# Prologue:

 

A soulmate is defined as “a person who is perfectly suited to another in temperament” and is generally a pipe dream best left to the poets and the dreamers, however, in a time where people are born with tattoo-like brands, finding one’s soulmate is much more easily achieved. Many are able to find and connect with their cosmically designated matches.

Soulmate brands are visible from birth and will remain on the skin unless cosmetically removed, similar to regular tattoos. The brands, only partially completed, will instantly complete themselves once one has exchanged words and had some sort of physical contact with their soul mate, however, there is no other indication that anything has changed and the completion often goes unnoticed by both parties unless the brand is clearly visible on exposed flesh. It’s estimated that a single person will interact with eighty-thousand people in a lifetime, leaving the door open to the very real possibility that one might meet their match.

All brands are, in their own way, significant and meaningful. Once a couple realizes their predestined predicament, it’s customary for them to attempt to understand the meaning of their brands. A brand, as most modern philosophers tell it, is a link to their shared past. Brands hold a meaning to the couple from a past they shared together, believed to have the potential to span as far back as the oldest of their personal incarnations. It’s been theorized that if these mates can ascertain the significance of their marks, they regain the knowledge of that life, including both their memories and their experiences. Though many have tried to understand and decipher the markings, only roughly one couple in every one-hundred-thousand will succeed. The odds of success are slim.

Not all people are born with a mark, which has lead many to the conclusion that they have either never been reincarnated and thus this is their first life, or their soulmate does not yet exist. Since the sudden arrival of brands, life for many has taken an interesting turn. In the midst of this play, put on by some heavy-handed cosmic machine, one unlikely trio is fumbling their way towards destiny.

This is their story.

 

* * *

 

 

# Chapter One:

 

“Don’t look at me like that.”

 

Shiro bit down on his smile as he ducked his head and pulled the strap of his messenger bag over it. He combed back the solid white bangs that fell into his face and sat the bag down carefully on the countertop before looking back to where his lover was seated on top of the counter beside the sink with a cheek full of the chocolate squares Shiro had purposefully hidden from him.

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like _I’m_ the crazy one.”

 

“How do you want me to look at you when I come home to find you sitting on the counter, with a mouthful of chocolate, wearing alien bubbles, looking like a startled chipmunk?”

 

Lance narrowed his eyes as he chewed, speaking around the chocolate as he dug another delicately wrapped confection out of the small pink bag on his lap, “with love and affection and absolute _wonder_.”

 

Shiro chuckled, leaning a hip against the counter as he crossed his arms and watched Lance decimate another chocolate square before reaching up to put the bag back in the back of the cabinet where Shiro had hidden it in the first place. Lance was seated on the counter, a foot from the sink, with his cinnamon hair pushed back by a neon blue terry cloth headband to protect it from the mass of disturbingly bubbly mask on his face. Beyond the foaming skin moisturizer, bright blue eyes crinkled in amusement and his lover blew him a kiss as he took hold of the edge of the counter and gracefully dropped back to the floor, padding over to loosely wrap his arms around him.

 

“I already look at you like that,” Shiro hummed as he dropped a kiss against the terry cloth band, “but stay out of the chocolate, there’s a reason I put it in the back of the cabinet where you can’t reach it.”

 

“You mean where you _thought_ I couldn’t reach it.”

 

“Well,” Shiro drawled, hand absently rubbing up and down the back of Lance’s thin, black, kimono robe as he gave him a mock stern glare, “I didn’t figure you’d raccoon yourself up onto the counter and sniff it out like a drug dog. Besides, you told me to keep all the ‘good stuff’ out of your path until after the Giana contract was finished. What happened to ‘new year, new me?’”

 

“Turns out it’s more like ‘same shit, different day,’ drug dog raccoon style.”

 

“Ugh.”

 

“I know, I’m the worst.”

 

“The absolute worst,” Shiro nuzzled his nose against the fluffy, lightly floral scented, hair behind the band and indulged himself with another kiss before he took a step back, lightly smacking him on the rear, “now go wash that stuff off of your face so I can kiss you properly.”

 

Like the burning facets of a sunlit diamond, Lance’s eyes glowed bright with the same smile on his lips, gracing him with a light that warmed his heart and chased away the fatigue wearing on his body, if only momentarily. Shiro watched him weave through the kitchen and head for the bathroom, eyes lingering on the doorway for a moment before he found the energy to walk into the living room and drop onto the sofa with a long, winding, sigh. Closing his eyes, he listened to the sound of the faucet cutting on in the bathroom and counted to three under his breath, lips quirking up when Lance started humming almost as if on cue.

 

He’d heard the tune enough over the years to know it by heart even though he didn’t know enough Spanish to understand the words to it. All he needed to know was that Lance hummed it when he was happy.

 

“Hey.”

 

Consciousness came slowly as he was prodded awake and he tried to ignore the shaking until it began to intensify. Groaning, Shiro lazily swatted at the hand pressing at his shoulder, opening a single eye to see Lance bent over him, head tilted to the side, as he quirked a brow.

 

“You’re going to get all cramped up if you try to nap on this couch, Takashi. Come on, bedtime for you.”

 

“We haven’t even eaten yet,” he argued gruffly, blinking back the bleariness as he opened both eyes and pushed himself into a seated position, “didn’t we agree on sushi tonight?”

 

“I’ll make food later, what good is going out if you’re just going to fall asleep in your food?”

 

“I’m not a child, Lance.”

 

“Mmmhmm,” Lance hummed, “just like you’re not getting all stubborn on me because you just got woken up from your nap too early. Sounds legit.”

 

Lance took a seat beside him and Shiro immediately leaned over, surprising him, and stole a taste of his lips, the taste of his lemon chapstick tart on his tongue. Gone was the bubbling face mask, leaving his bronzed olive skin deliciously bare and blissfully soft to the touch. Reaching up, Shiro slid his thumb over Lance’s cheekbone, the slightly textured pad of the prosthetic sweeping gently out to the side of his face, and swallowed the contented sigh that breezed over his lips as he leaned against his chest.

 

“I hate when you do that,” Lance admitted softly, letting his head fall to Shiro’s shoulder.

 

“Do what?”

 

“Win.” Lance sighed, “Are you sure you don't want to sleep? You must be exhausted after work.”

 

“I am, but how about I compromise and we just order out? I haven’t gotten enough of you yet, I’m not going to bed.”

 

“Ugh, stop it; you already won.”

 

“You make it too easy; all I have to do is tell you the truth and you melt.”

 

“I can’t help it, you do that to me.”

 

Shiro felt his chest warm and he reached back to prop one of the silly decorative pillows Lance picked out against the arm of the couch before scooting back against it and holding out his arms, “come here.”

 

Like an eager puppy, Lance immediately cuddled up to him, his back pressed against his chest as Shiro slid his arms around him. Nothing was as comforting as the feel of holding him close and the rest of the world had a habit of falling out of focus when he had him in his arms; it was a reminder of the beautiful things in life and of the love in it.

 

“How was your day? How’d the shoot with Allura go?”

 

“It was fine. The shoot was fun, plus the company sent us about fifty more of those containers.”

 

“What human has ever needed that much moisturizer?”

 

Lance snorted, tilting his head back against Shiro’s shoulder to give him a look, “what, you don’t like how soft I am?”

 

“I love how soft you are.”

 

“Then just enjoy it. Besides, I’m definitely not going to bitch about free product. Anyway, payment for the ad rights goes through tomorrow so I’ll be done with that. Allura recommended me for another skincare position that I can fit in before the Giana shoot and they called me right before you got home.”

 

“Ah, now the alien bubbles make sense.”

 

“You should know that I never need an excuse to pamper my skin. How was work today? Did you talk to them about the exhibit?”

 

“It was alright,” Shiro shrugged, enjoying the little shiver Lance gave as the cool metal fingers of his prosthetic slid under the hem of the silky black turtleneck Lance wore, tracing patterns over his abdomen, “we have the set up for the exhibition down and I finalized lighting and catering. Everything is ready to go.”

 

“I’m so proud of you,” Lance put his hands on top of Shiro’s and squeezed, stretching up a little so that he could tilt his head and press his lips to his jaw, “you’ve worked really hard on those pieces and you’re going to kill it. I know it’s been stressful, but it’s going to pay off, you just wait. Did you and Matt decide on a title?”

 

“Yeah, we’re going with ‘The Shape of Expression.’”

 

“That’s perfect! I’m honored to be a part of it.”

 

“Like I, and everyone else on the planet who has ever met you, have always said- you make a beautiful model.”

 

“Thank you but you’re the talent.”

 

“You’re going to be able to make it to the opening aren’t you?”

 

“You know I’d never miss it.”

 

Shiro tightened his arms around him, “good.”

 

They basked in one another’s closeness for a long while, steeping in the warmth and comfort they found there, before Shiro finally decided to bring it up.

 

“Have you been feeling okay?”

 

There was a split second tension that came and went, but the residual rigidity in Lance’s shoulders wasn’t lost on Shiro.

 

“Fine, why?”

 

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice the turtleneck?”

 

“It’s been cold in here today.”

 

“That’s a bad excuse, Lance.”

 

“Is it illegal for me to wear?”

 

The defensive rise in his voice was more than enough to cement his suspicions.

 

“Lance…”

 

“I’ll get over it, it’ll pass like it always does.”

 

Shiro pulled his right hand out from beneath the hem of the shirt and reached for Lance’s throat, fingers gently tracing the twin, black, lines he knew from memory that marked the skin beneath the fabric.

 

“You know I love you, don’t you,” he murmured quietly against his ear.

 

“I know you do and I love you too…”

 

There was such profound sadness in his voice that it tore into his heart. He understood his pain; he’d had the thoughts himself.

 

“...so why won't it complete already? I can’t imagine caring about anyone else like I care about you. Who gets to say that you aren’t my soulmate? It isn’t right, Takashi, it’s not. Is it supposed to be some kind of sign, like we’re doomed to fail? Are these stupid marks supposed to be telling me that what we have doesn’t mean something? I don’t doubt you and I don't doubt me, but I can’t understand why what I feel doesn’t change these damn things.”

 

“Hey, hey,” Shiro sat a little straighter and forced Lance to shift in his seat so that he could look at him straight on, meeting his gaze and reaching out to wipe away the tears falling over his lashes, “who cares? Nothing is going to stop me from loving you, not an earthquake, not a zombie apocalypse that I keep telling you will never happen, and certainly not some stupid birthmark. Nothing, Lance, and I mean it.”

 

Lance said nothing, sniffling as he reached for him and threaded his arms tightly around his neck, burying his face between his arm and Shiro’s throat.

 

“I’m sorry that it bothers me.”

 

“Don’t be, you can’t help it and I get it. Just don’t ever forget what I said, okay?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“What brought it on today?”

 

After another sniffle, Lance lifted his head and spoke with a watery voice.

 

“I watched it happen. Allura and I had just settled into place when the new tech girl walked into the shot and caught an earful from the photographer. She poked him in the chest and yelled back at him about the amount of wires crossing the walkways then I guess realized she was being too candid and she covered her mouth. She had a weird outline on the back of her hand and right as she covered her mouth, the outline changed. It was incredible to see, honestly; it went from a black line to a really pretty chess piece, a knight that looked made out of jade or something. It was like watching a speedpaint happen on a person right in front of you.”

 

Shiro took a moment to digest his words and when he spoke, he spoke carefully and softly.

 

“Can you live with knowing that it’ll probably never happen for us? Because if it hasn’t happened by now, I don't think it’s going to,” Shiro spoke his mind honestly, thinking about the thin, incomplete, floral wreath on his chest and trying to look past the pain that he had felt after seeing the tears well in Lance’s eyes.

 

Lance nodded but he could still see it there, the hurt, the frustration, and the bitterness.

 

“Yeah, I can; I don’t like it, but that doesn’t change how I feel about you. I just think it’s bullshit.”

 

“I’ve always got you, that’s all you need to have faith in.”

 

“I know, I know you do.”

 

“Good, now let’s move this to the bedroom because I’m cramped up over here.”

 

True though it was, he just couldn’t stand to see that look on his face any longer. Any excuse to bring the light back into his eyes and chase away the clouds was all he wanted. Lame as his attempt was, it worked. Lance rolled his eyes and the vice grip that his tears had held on Shiro’s heart gave a little so that he could breathe again.

 

“I told you.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

Lance got up from his seat and held out a hand that Shiro easily took into his own, standing and allowing him to lead him to bed. Lance looked over his shoulder as they passed through the doorway to their bedroom, one manicured brow arched.

 

“Also, the zombie apocalypse could totally happen.”

 

“Well they eat brains so you’re probably safe anyway.”

 

“Keep talking like that and I won’t be protecting you from the tacky neighbors when they feel like snacking on smartass.”

 

Chuckling, the pair climbed onto the bed, Lance taking his place snuggled closely against Shiro’s chest. Unbidden, the marking conversation wiggled its way back into the front of Shiro’s mind.

 

“So, the marks... Is that why you were nearly face first in the chocolate when I got here?”

 

Lance hummed his affirmation.

 

“...Do you need more chocolate?”

 

Lance nodded.

 

“I’ll pick some up tomorrow,” he promised, kissing his forehead.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“I’ll also sit them on the counter so you don’t break your neck trying to raccoon up to them again.”

 

“Double thanks. Sorry for getting worked up on you, I really didn’t mean for that to come up again.”

 

“I don’t blame you, it’s okay. I don’t expect you to be perfectly okay with it, it’s a heavy topic and I get that it’s disappointing. At the end of the day, though, all that’s important is you and me and if we’re happy..”

 

“You’re making me look bad by being perfect all the time.”

 

“Hey, it’s not easy being this great.”

 

Lance snickered and snuggled a little closer, the tension that had been present in his shoulders finally, _finally,_ melting away. Shiro breathed a small sigh of relief and was hit all at once with the fatigue he’d pushed aside.

 

“It’ll be okay.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“The exhibit, that’s what you’re worried about isn’t it?”

 

He had to smile a little at how easy it was for Lance, even in his own distress, to read him so well.

 

“I’m mostly just exhausted; putting this together hasn’t been a walk in the park.”

 

“I know, but it’s almost over-”

 

Lance was interrupted by a loud buzzing from Shiro’s pocket. With a grumble, Shiro pulled a hand away from Lance to fish the phone out and briefly scan the text.

 

“Who was it?”

 

“It’s Matt, he said he’s ready whenever I am and that he’s excited.”

 

“I can’t wait to see the exhibit! After it’s done, I’ll take you out to celebrate.”

 

Shiro leaned back to put the phone on the nightstand and then slid his arm back around his lover.

 

“Oh? Are you planning to get me drunk and then take advantage of me,” he questioned on a hum, watching Lance through thick lashes as he flashed him a seductive smile.

 

Lance pursed his lips thoughtfully, not taking his bait, “I dunno, sounds like a lot of work but you might be worth it.”

 

“Oh I _might_ be, huh?”

 

“Maybe,” Lance grinned playfully, smiling against his lips as Shiro kissed him.

 

“Possibly,” he amended.

 

Shiro kissed him again, a low grumble of a growl in his throat as he nibbled at his bottom lip.

 

“Definitely.”

 

“Mmhmm, that’s more like it,” Shiro winked.

 

The pair shared a laugh and, after a short while, Shiro felt his eyelids grow heavy, the weariness mingling with the comfortable intimacy to lull him back to the fringes of unconsciousness. He could feel the rhythmic rise and fall of Lance’s chest against him and hear the soft, constant, ticking of the clock across the room over his desk. Just as he was toeing the edge of sleep, a loud rumbling rose up from his stomach. There was silence for a few seconds before Lance lifted his head and cleared his throat, casting a quick glance to the clock.

 

“Takashi?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“...We never ordered the food.”

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Muffled grunts and the soft ‘ _thuds_ ’ of impact. Clinking weights jerking free of their resting places only to be slammed back into them with resounding clarity. Heavy dummies wobbling to one side or the other, their stands creaking with the motions. The sounds were all around him, filtering around the snippets of conversation wheezed between movements and woven into the background. He forced them as far back as they could go, narrowing his eyes on what lay ahead. As he focused on the figure before him, the constant sounds dulled to a low buzz and he clenched his teeth around the guard in his mouth. He pounded his fists together in front of his chest, his gloves hitting hard, before he moved into a ready stance.

 

There was a smug smile on her face as she copied his motions and settled into her own stance, tawny eyes bright and fierce as they burrowed into him. He had six inches and nearly forty pounds on her but the advantage there was slight; she always fought like she had something to prove, sparring or not. Keith gave her a nod and it began. 

 

She flowed nimbly backward as he drove in, easily dodging his outstretched arm and spinning to the side for a lightning fast leg strike to his left shin-guard. He was careful, measuring his successful upper hits by proximity rather than contact since she’d forgone the headguard, wearing only a neon green upper mouth guard that she flashed in triumph as she gracefully evaded him. They circled the cage trading jabs, aiming for pads to test their limits. They were only about five minutes in when Keith’s mind began to wander, his body seemingly moving off of autopilot as he picked up the sound of cell phone ring similar to his own. The phone call from the night before whirled, unbidden, into his mind and clouded his bearings. 

 

Pidge saw his lackluster right jab for what it was and, as he knew she would, she went to parry and overhand with her own left. Instead of following through, however, she dropped down to curve a hook into his ribs. He bit hard on the guard, growling as he squinted at the thrumming pulses of pain erupting at the site of her hit. Before he could open his mouth, she was shaking her head and pulling the tie out of the tiny ponytail, letting what hair she had fall to its place at the right of her face while she spat out her guard and began pulling at the strapping of her gloves.

 

“What was that for,” he asked gruffly after pulling out his own guard. 

 

She glowered at him as she tugged the thick black mitts from her hands, running her hand over the half shave on the left of her head before giving her messy hair a quick tousle. 

 

“For not paying attention, shit-heel. If I wanted to fight a dummy, I’d just go out onto the floor and take my pick. I’m not going to sit here and baby you. If you want a training bout, I’m game, otherwise don’t waste my time.”

 

Keith wiped his guard off on his ratty tank top and followed her from the cage, trying to unstrap his gear without losing her. 

 

“Hey, I’m sorry, you know me better than that-”

 

Katie stopped and turned, crossing her arms over her chest. There was a different kind of fire there now, one of about fifty unique versions of her ‘I’m fucking pissed at you’ expression. 

 

“You’re right, I do know you better than that, and that’s why I’m pissed. If you have something to talk about, then talk about it; don’t start doing that shit where you try to work it off in the cage and then half ass it because you can’t focus. I’m not doing that with you again and I’m not going to watch someone else kick your ass because you don’t know how to use your words instead of your fists. If you have something that’s eating you, talk about it. Otherwise, you deserve another good jab in the ribs for not being focused.”

 

Keith deflated as he stared down at his pint-sized best friend, knowing he had exactly one option if he wanted to make up for his lack of attention and for worrying her.

 

“Shower and then Giovanni’s?”

 

There was a flicker as her expression softened, the fire dimming to a warm glow that had a way of instantly comforting him. Her response was fast and easy, as though she  _ hadn’t _ just looked like she was contemplating punching his face straight through the back of his head.

 

“Sure.”

 

“Meet you up front in ten.”   
  


* * *

 

The smell of freshly baked pasta and rich, aromatic, herbs hit his nose with all the grace of a four-hundred-pound boxer the moment the pair of them stepped through the doors of the seemingly ancient Italian restaurant a few blocks from the gym. Katie led the way through a small walkway to the right, weaving her way through a maze of chair legs before making it to the two-person table in the very corner of the establishment. Keith gazed fondly around the tiny eatery, nodding politely to the friendly, familiar, faces of the other regulars and servers that looked their way. 

 

It wasn’t the kind of place the San Francisco Bay would ever be known for, and it certainly wouldn’t be on any travel blogger’s ‘top-ten; Bay edition’ list, but he liked it better that way. The tablecloths were faded and fraying a little at the ends, the dark cherry of the chair legs had notches where they’d been scraped together as patrons tried to move out of the tiny aisleway at the same time, and the menus had lost their luster in the five or so years since they’d last been replaced. There was a rustic charm about its chipped wallpaper and intimate seating, an aura that couldn’t be replicated by some fancy restaurant down the way that served small plates so unfilling that they would have you stopping at the nearest ‘In-N-Out’ the minute you got back in your car. No, it was one of the few places he could stop by and expect to be greeted by name; that kind of permanency meant something to him, small though it was.

 

“Okay,” Katie announced, pulling his attention firmly back to her, “start talking or I’m going to start running up the bill the second Charli gets over here to take our order.”

 

He sighed dramatically, “I can see it now, Charli running back and forth to pile up cheesy garlic bread while my wallet cries. Why are you always hitting me where it hurts?”

 

“It’s my passion,” she shrugged, leaning back in her chair, “now, let’s hear it.”

 

The nausea that began churning it his gut was violent as he tried to think about how to begin and how to even put his feelings into words.

 

“I got a call last night…”

 

Keith’s voice trailed off. Katie raised a brow.

 

“Are we playing Clue here, Keith, because unless it was Colonel Mustard in the library with a lead pipe, I’m going to need some more information here.”

 

He cleared his throat, “I got a call from some guy last night who said he was looking for me on behalf of his client.”

 

“Tell me you didn’t ding somebody’s ride with that stupid bike of yours- OH GOD DID YOU HIT A PEDESTRIAN?”

 

The most disturbing part of her expression was how she looked thoroughly amused instead of horrified when she spoke those words. His memories of playing Grand Theft Auto with her made all the sense in the world, then. 

 

“No, not like that. He said… He said that he had been hired to find me on behalf of my mom.”

 

That sentence changed Katie’s entire demeanor. Instantly she was leaned towards him, elbows on the nicked tabletop, her eyes narrowed on him. 

 

“Did you say your  _ mom _ ?”

 

Chills prickled at the damp skin beneath Keith’s tank top as he nodded, absently brushing his thick bangs back from his eyes, “he said that there was a woman claiming to be my mother and that she had been looking for me for a long time.”

 

“But your mom died, didn’t she?”

 

“Yeah, she died in a house fire when I was four.”

 

“So, did you tell him that he had the wrong guy?”

 

“That’s just it, Pidge, he knew everything about me. It wasn’t like he just called up the wrong Keith Kogane in the phone book; he knew about the foster care, about school, about my juvenile record-” Keith let out a strained laugh, “-hell, I bet he could tell you about the birthmark on my ass. He knew about my dad, even told me the year he pawned me off.”

 

“That’s fucking creepy, dude. I mean, could it be some elaborate scam? You know how innovative people get when they’re down on their luck. There have been people who use somebody’s dead family member to get money, like using facebook and stuff.”

 

Keith shook his head, “I doubt anyone would put that much time into someone else’s life story for a quick buck, especially mine. Besides, how would anyone know about my record? Isn’t that shit supposed to be sealed?”

 

“Don’t ask me,” Katie mumbled over a mouthful of cheesy garlic bread after Charli made another round and sat the basket, and their drinks, down in front of them, “I’m an angel, what would I know about that?”

 

“You’re a monster in a midget suit is what you are.”

 

Her eyes narrowed playfully over the crust of her bread, “I’m going to break a rib for that one, mark my words.”

 

He managed a chuckle, but the banter did nothing to calm the vortex of uneasiness within him. 

 

“So, what are you going to do?”

 

That was the million dollar question. He had no idea what he was going to do, if he was honest, and he had no idea how to go about figuring it out. After the call had come in at around seven, he’d spent the next three hours sitting in the same spot staring at his cell phone on the coffee table. It should have been so easy to tell him that he had the wrong number, the wrong man, but he had been so absolutely determined with his arsenal of information that it had caused Keith to doubt what he knew as fact. 

 

“I don’t know, Pidge. What would you do?”

 

“Block his number and move on.”

 

Keith knit his brows, “you say that so fast, did you even think about it?”

 

Katie took a gulp of her coke to wash down the hunk of bread she’d devoured before she reached out a hand to cover his own where it sat on the tabletop.

 

“Your mom is dead, there’s nothing else to say. I bet I could google any of the social media accounts of the kids you were in school with, scroll back five-thousand-years, and find a tweet where someone went, ‘lol did you guys hear about that dumb kid with the mullet who keyed a car and landed himself in juvy?’ The internet is a hell of a tool because it’s just as dangerous as it is useful. Do you know why scams are so convincing?”

 

“Why, ‘O Wise One?”

 

“Because they’re involved. The more involved it is, the more likely you are to think it’s legit. Then boom, bam, you’re broke and stupid. Don’t let some rando con you into doubting yourself just because he took the time to google you. Although, let’s be real, who would even google YOU?”

 

“Why are we friends?”

 

“Because you love me and know that I won’t let you fall for stupid shit. Also because I’m a badass.”

 

He couldn’t help but laugh at her smug smirk. He did feel a little silly getting so worked up, she was probably right after all, but it was still gnawing at him. The seed of doubt had been planted and, try as he might, he couldn’t shake it loose. It wasn’t something as obvious as a phone call about a random lottery winning or an email from a ‘Nigerian prince’; this was something he’d always felt unsure of, something that had always rung a little hollow in his ears when he said it aloud. There were parts of his childhood that didn’t add up to him no matter how he tried to do the math, and that man had known exactly which parts of him to prod. 

 

“You’re right,” he conceded despite his doubt, forcing a smile, “it just rattled me I guess.”

 

“It’s okay, I would have been rattled with my mom sitting right next to me,” she snorted, “that kind of thing is just sketchy as all hell.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Keith sighed.

 

“Mm, wanna hear something that’ll make you laugh?”

 

“Does the pope take holy shits?”

 

Pidge snorted, waving a half eaten hunk of bread around for emphasis as she spoke, “I caught Captain Manbun making kissy faces at himself in the mirror this morning while trying to sweet talk some customer service lady into ordering him a replacement part for his camera since it showed up broken.”

 

“Ugh,” Keith rolled his eyes, smiling because he had no problems picturing that whatsoever since it was so very Matt.

 

“Keith,” Pidge sighed, clutching at her chest with her free hand, “he was doing it wearing one of my crop tops and his underwear… With the door open in the same house where I lay my sweet head.”

 

Pidge put down the bread and cleared her throat.

 

“Why yes, of course I understand,” she reenacted, dropping her voice down into a seductive mirror of her brothers that bordered on obscene, “I know it’s not your fault sweetheart. Some people just don’t know how to handle delicate things with care, but you know that I’m sure. What? Of course I’m talking about the lenses, I have no doubt a delicate thing like yourself is already treated with care. Now, if you weren’t, I’d have to have a little talk with the lovers in your life. Oh, you’re single?”

 

Pidge cocked a brow and pursed her lips a few times, “well then, after you order that lense for me how about you tell me where you’d like to go this weekend so I can show you a little care-”

 

Breaking character, Pidge cringed and gagged, “I had to see that with my own fucking eyes and hear that shit in my own house. I didn’t sign up for this, Keith, I don't deserve this kind of torture.”

 

Keith gave a bark of laughter at her dramatic telling and Katie smiled triumphantly as she reached for her leftover appetizer, her face lit as it always was when she felt like she turned his mood around. It was in moments like those that he was especially grateful to have her in his life.

 

“You and your brother are a hell of a pair.”

 

“My dad always called us space cadets and my mom called us wild animals; I feel like they were both right. Matt needs to be flung into space where he belongs, the absolute menace. Anyway, how about we go catch a drink this weekend? I hear there’s a special on drafts at Hoolies and if I know you,  _ and I do _ , you’re going to get extra mopey again after you’ve had some time to yourself.”

 

“You don’t have to look after me, you know. Weren’t you the one who literally said that you weren’t going to babysit me right after punching me?”

 

“That wasn’t me, that was hungry Pidge; I don't trust her, she’ll say anything until she’s fed.”

 

“Ugh.”

 

“Just agree to go so I don’t have to pester you and Charli will finally stop circling the place like a fly and come take our orders.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes but easily caved in.

 

“Fine, but you’re buying.”

 

“Deal.”

 

* * *

  
  


Keith stared up at the idle blades of the ceiling fan from where he lay on the couch, half listening to his neighbors argue through the irritatingly thin walls of his apartment. Despite his lunch with Katie, he just couldn’t get that damned phone call out of his head. 

 

_ “She’s been looking for you.” _

 

_ “He’d been lying to you all that time.” _

 

_ “He took you from her.” _

 

_ “Why do you think he never let you stay in any place for too long?” _

 

_ “Meet with me and I’ll tell you what I know.” _

 

_ “She just wants her son back.” _

 

_ “You owe it to both of you.” _

 

_ “Haven’t you ever wondered about it?” _

 

_ “Haven’t you thought about her?” _

 

_ “This is your opportunity.” _

 

_ “I’ve been looking for you for a long time, Keith Kogane.” _

 

_ “Hear me out and then you can walk, if that’s really what you want.” _

 

Keith threw his arm over his eyes, wishing he could stop hearing that voice telling him that what he knew was a lie. It should have been easy to force out, it was just a scam, it had to be. Memories passed through his mind’s eye, images from being on the road. It had seemed like an adventure for such a young kid, like a journey from a book he might have read. Everything then had been larger than life, including his father. 

 

He remembered fondly the open plains of Montana spreading wide and meeting the sky where they weren’t nestled against a backdrop of the snow capped Rockies. He remembered nights spent looking up at the stars from the back of the jeep when they slept with the top off. His father would make up constellations and then come up with a story about it on the spot; Keith had eaten it up. A new landscape greeted him every few days and it had been thrilling and exciting. There had also been greasy, cheap, food, frequent stops for nausea, not to mention one long stay in nevada for food poisoning. Eventually though, the money his father had been using ran out and they’d ended up stuck in some dive south of Eugene, Oregon. 

 

Keith pictured his father with that smile that had gone from meaning ‘I can do anything’ when Keith was young to ‘I will do anything,’ as he grew. He had learned to see past the awed wonder of a child and into the front put on by an adult barely holding on. Keith had seen him go from confidant and well mannered to short tempered and harsh. When things were good, they were really good, but when they were bad,... 

 

He saw his father with a blackened eye and a split lip weeping blood, leaning against the doorframe for support as he came stumbling in smelling like three years of barn muck mixed with gin and vodka. He wouldn’t tell him what had happened, he would only mumble that he knew better than that hand as he stumbled through the darkened hallways and managed, just barely, to fall face first onto his bed before passing out. That scene had been repeated more times than he cared to remember. It hadn’t been long afterwards that his father had dropped him off at a friend’s house, some old man he’d been card buddies with, and never looked back.

 

A familiar bitterness overtook him, singeing the already tattered edges of those memories. Keith turned onto his side, his gaze coming to rest on his phone sitting silent on the glass coffee table next to a single yellow sticky note that he’d hastily scribbled the strange man’s number on. He looked at it for a long while, thinking about the possibilities all the while fearing them. He was locked in an internal battle, half of him demanding that he throw that number away, delete all call logs, and immediately change his number. The other half, however, openly debated the good in calling him. 

 

All he knew for certain was that he wished he’d never gotten that stupid call and that he was definitely going to need that drink.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Shiro had practically paced a walkway through the hardwood floor of their bedroom by the time Lance was finished dressing.

 

“Calm down for the last time,” he laughed from beyond the closed door as if he could see the creases between his brows, “everything is going to be fine.”

 

Shiro didn’t even bother responding, pausing instead to stop and check over his appearance for the tenth time in the body length mirror to the right of their bed. He had gelled his hair back, showing off the close buzzed sides while he let the white of his bangs fall forward. Again and again he tugged at the neck of his plum silk long-sleeve, deciding to undo the first two buttons. He looked as classy as he could manage while still maintaining comfort, the white chinos balancing out the richness of the plum. He doubted, however, that anyone who didn’t know him would be concerned with his clothes once they caught the gleam of his right hand. While he wasn’t the least bit ashamed of the prosthetic that stopped midway from his elbow to his shoulder, compensating for the partial limb he’d lost at the middle of his forearm, he wasn’t willing to become the main attraction.

 

As he fiddled with the opening of his shirt, he caught sight of a small vine peeking just beyond the right side of the fabric. Shiro’s hand went to his chest as he thought of Lance and the way he’d been broken down by the thought that their brands would stay unfulfilled; he feared, in the depths of his heart, that Lance would never truly be able to look past those markings. He stared at his chest in the mirror, imagining the open wreath of vines he knew was stamped on the flesh beneath his shirt. Since meeting and subsequently falling in love with Lance, he had come to hate the brand; it had caused them nothing but heartache and disappointment.

 

His eyes rose as the door to the bathroom opened. Lance had opted for a double breasted navy vest over a crisp white long sleeve, unbuttoned to the second button, and a pair of grey slacks. His hair had been lightly gelled and tousled, the ends curling slightly where he was in need of a cut. His brand was dark against the skin of his throat, the two parallel lines disappearing into the white collar of his shirt. In his right ear, a diamond stud glittered brightly, part of a birthday gift Shiro had given him several years ago for his eighteenth birthday, and his eyes had been lined with black liner. 

 

Shiro let out a slow breath as he turned his back to the mirror, facing his partner as he crossed to him.

 

“Is this alright,” Lance asked, lips quirked in a knowing smirk.

 

“How is anyone going to be able to look at the artwork when you’ll be there looking like this?”

 

Lance chuckled at his lover’s sigh, nuzzling his cheek into the metal of Shiro’s palm when he reached out to graze his cheek, “I’m just dressed enough to meet the standards. Besides, I am the model for some of the pieces, it stands to reason that they’d want to know how close the artistic representation is to the real thing.”

 

“You’re going to put my work to shame, I’ll have to hide you in a corner,” Shiro grumbled playfully, fingers moving to his chin so that he could tilt Lance’s face up and plant a small kiss on his lips.

 

“Uh-huh. You ready?”

 

Shiro thought back to his feelings about the brands as he looked at the affectionate smile Lance wore and he felt them fading away. That brilliance aimed at him, soft around the corners and filled with affection, was all that he cared about. There was no doubt in his mind that the issue would remain, lingering in the back of their life together waiting for it’s moment to dampen their mood. He would take that, though, if it meant he would still have that smile.

 

“Yeah,” he nodded, hand falling down to his side so that he could take Lance’s and lightly thread their fingers together, “let’s go.”

  
  
  
  
  


Three hours after the hall had been perfected, Shiro was already wondering why he had decided to put himself through such an ordeal. The space was beautiful, open and wide, spacious without being overwhelmingly empty. It had taken everything short of an ancient sacrificial rite to get his managers to allow him time between the exhibitions he usually set up for others. He’d been working with the Upman Branch’s Whindhouse Exhibition Hall for years, slaving away at the whims of artists, musicians, and modernistic brides to create an experience that he had always dreamed of having for himself.

 

In his dreams, however, he hadn’t thought of how much more tedious it would be to plan his own exhibition. From catering to lighting changes, information pamphlets, news release, dictation of floor space, and the proper showing of each piece, Shiro’s head had nearly exploded before the doors had even opened. While the big details had been finalized and implemented the day before, he had nearly driven himself crazy making sure things were perfect. With the added pressure of making sure that the event was fit to be a product of an Upman Branch employee, the rest of Shiro’s hair was threatening to color like his bangs.

 

After an introduction at the beginning of the show, Shiro had stepped aside to let his work do the talking for him. It was almost painful to keep from staring at their faces while they viewed his pieces, trying to keep from reading into what he saw there. Many of the guests that had shown were people he recognized, some co-workers as well as previous clients that had used him to help their own events walked amongst the few unfamiliar faces. 

 

“You look like you’re about to make a run for it.”

 

“I have been seriously considering it.”

 

“If it makes you feel any better,” Matt drawled as he walked up to his side, sipping at some blue ombre frou-frou cocktail, “at least you have paintings on display. Snooty types tend to throw their nose up at photographs.”

 

Matt tugged at the thick corded neck of the maroon turtleneck he wore over his jeans, amber eyes cast around the room. Shiro appreciated his nervousness and it was comforting to know that it wasn’t just him feeling unsure.

 

“They just haven’t seen yours,” Shiro shrugged, glancing over his shoulder towards where Matt’s wall began. 

 

Matt’s prints didn’t rely on a straight presentation, instead moving as they needed up and down the wall to create the effect of a body outline using the models in his pieces as building blocks. With arms outstretched in anger, backs hunched in despair, and torsos ramrod straight in fear, his models became the lineart, each print part of a bigger picture. The expressions were so poignant, so clear and touching, that the final image left the audience contemplative. Man was made from that anger, that fear, that despair, and happiness. One creature with a million varieties of himself.

 

“Yeah well-” Matt trailed off when he noticed a group approaching them, eyes directed towards Shiro, “I’ll leave you to your public.”

 

“Just hang me out to dry and be done with it,” Shiro retorted with the smallest of smirks before he aimed a friendly smile towards the group that stopped in front of him.

 

“Takashi,” the older woman smiled wide as she took the hand he offered, clasping it lightly with both of her own, “marvelous to see you again.”

 

“It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Hunter, and thank you for coming.”

 

“Oh pish posh, you can just call me Gretta dear,” she scoffed, patting the back of his hand before releasing it, “and it’s not as though anyone could stop me. When I heard from Candice that you were putting up your own show between the Atwaters exhibitions I just had to come see it for myself.”

 

“I’m glad she thinks highly enough of us to mention it even after that plexiglass wall nearly took out one of her bridesmaids; Ashley, wasn’t it?”

 

Weathered green eyes rolled as she huffed, “ _ Aisley _ , but close enough. Pick a few random letters out of a hat and you’ve got yourself a baby name. Who can even remember all of these odd pronunciations these days? Besides, the little urchin slept with Candice’s husband after a few weeks so if you could actually rig up another one of those plexiglass contraptions I could make it worth your while.”

 

It took an act of sheer willpower not to seal bark his laughter at the devious smirk on the old woman’s face.

 

“I think my boss would frown on that but thank you.”

 

One of the women in the group behind her cleared their throat, seeming to catch the old woman’s attention.

 

“Oh! Where are my manners? Ladies, this is Takashi Shirogane.”

 

“Ladies,” he greeted with a slight bow, “welcome and thank you for coming.”

 

The group of women greeted him, offering a kind remark here and there about his work. He was struck, however, when a woman near the back spoke above them.

 

“Has it been like this long?”

 

The chatter amongst the group ceased and all eyes were on the willowy woman whose eyes were scanning the walls.

 

“Pardon?”

 

She took her time turning her attention back to him, sweeping a greying strand of dark hair behind her ear as she gestured to the nearest pieces.

 

“I remember seeing your work when you had a few pieces in a multi-artist show in Fremont. I remember it being dynamic with a hint of whimsy; it felt free and fluid. Your work here is beautiful but it feels stagnated, like… Like there’s a consistent lack of growth.”

 

Her eyes were as blunt as her words and the women around her remained silent as they looked between them. Forcing a smile, Shiro shrugged a shoulder, “we learn as we grow. I’m not the same man I was in Fremont.”

 

“I can see that,” she responded simply, noticing the judgemental narrowed eyes aimed her way from the women around her, “thank you for sharing your work.”

 

“Thank you for coming.”

 

“Mother ought to have taught her some manners,” Gretta grumbled under her breath as the woman turned her back to him and walked off towards Matt’s display, “criticism shouldn’t sound like you’re beating someone down with a stick.”

 

“No, it’s appreciated. If that’s how it made her feel, then I’m happy to know it. How does it feel to you?”

 

Gretta sighed, her frown tilting back only slightly as she walked over to the closest piece. She spent a moment studying the image, eyes tracing the lines that made up Lance’s wrist and traveled to his fingers where they were clenched in satin.

 

“It’s beautiful, Takashi, but it’s missing something.”

 

She squinted at the image, tilting her head as she looked closely and then stepped back for a full image visual.

 

“I don't know what it is,” she continued before looking back to him with an apologetic expression that did more harm than her friend’s words, “but I feel like you’re not quite hitting your highest note yet. I get what you’re trying to convey but something about the delivery lacks the punch it needs to really affect you. It’s a hard thing to explain, I’m sorry.”

 

“No, I appreciate your candor Gretta, truly.”

 

“Whatever is blocking you can’t do it forever,” she assured him with a light, familiar, pat on the cheek, “best of luck.”

 

“Thank you, enjoy.”

  
  
  
  


Lance watched his lover over the next two hours, heart aching as he watched the nerves and excitement that he’d worn so openly turn to disappointment. The light on his face had been snuffed out and he could easily see the self loathing Shiro was prone to begin to rear its head. Lance had a good idea of what had caused the change in his lover. As he’d walked around the exhibition hall, making a point to view and compliment Matt’s work, he’d been stopped several times by viewers who had questions about his work as Shiro’s subject. Again and again they had asked if he’d ever worked with another artist and if their art was any ‘different.’

 

“What do you mean,” he’d asked, despite knowing precisely where they were going with their curiosities. 

 

_ “It’s good work but something in the style isn’t working.” _

 

_ “Well, I mean, I wonder if a different artist would have captured it a little better.” _

 

_ “I understand the point but it feels a bit forced, I guess.” _

 

_ “You have other options, don’t you?” _

 

Lance couldn’t stand to watch it, couldn’t stand to hear it. The compliments of a few had been completely overshadowed by the criticisms and not-so-subtle advice of the others to seek a different artist, as if he were getting paid. He had taken his time looking over Shiro’s work, seeing himself reflected back at him. He’d seen his own smile, wide and bright, seen the arch of his foot and curl of his toes; he’d seen the slump of his back and the shape of his body curled in on itself. All over again he’d been touched by the vision of himself that Shiro had shared, by the way he’d taken Lance’s emotion and folded it into how it shone through his eyes. It was enlightening and all the while humbling. 

 

While he knew what they meant about his work, it didn’t take away from the images he’d created, not for him. Checking his watch, he counted only a a few hours left of the show for the day. With purpose, he walked through the small throngs of attendees and made a beeline for Shiro who was standing in front of one of his own works, frowning intently.

 

“We’re leaving.”

 

“What?”

 

Shiro, despite his confusion, allowed Lance to pull him by his wrist to one of the exits near the back of the hall.

 

“Lance, what are you doing?”

 

It burned in his chest to see him try to cover his disappointment and unease, to put on a phony smile and quirk his brows like he was amused by his lover’s antics. He could not, he would not, watch him fall into that pit of self loathing that he’d seen him fall headlong into firsthand.

 

“We’re leaving. Hoolies is close, right? They have specials tonight.”

 

Shiro firmly, albeit gently, extracted his wrist from Lance’s grasp and took a step back to put some distance between them. 

 

“I can’t leave, Lance, I still have over an hour and a half left for tonight.”

 

Lanced crossed the space Shiro had put between them and looked over to the right, nodding at a small string of people looking at his work.

 

“You want to spend another hour and a half letting your self esteem get beaten down? If you’re not going to leave with me then I’ll go alone, because I can’t sit here and see you look like that. I know you’re excited to host your own opening, and I’m excited for you, but I’m sure I know what they’ve said to you. I’ve been standing over there watching you look more and more like a kicked puppy with every person that walked by you, with every person that had something to say. You don’t look like you can take another two hours of this.”

 

Shiro laughed with that brittle smile that didn’t meet his eyes, “not everyone is going to see what I see or agree with how I’ve created it. I would be extremely short sighted not to think that some people were going to come in here and hate everything I’ve put up. It’s something that should be expected and if you can’t deal with it then why bother putting it on display?”

 

Lance tilted his head a little, recognizing the sudden, almost monotone, quality that his voice took on.

 

“How many times have you had to repeat that to yourself tonight?”

 

A crack split the integrity of that fragile smile and Shiro turned to look at the people to his left rather than look his lover in the face. Every move was as telling as the words he didn’t say.

 

“You can’t expect to please everyone.”

 

“That doesn’t mean you have to subject yourself to hours of it when you’re not ready. You’ve done your part. Matt can field any questions that anyone has, can’t he?”

 

“Probably.”

 

“Then let’s go regroup, okay? I’ll buy.”

 

Shiro was quiet for a moment that seemed to last an eternity before he sighed quietly and turned his attention back to Lance, “I’ll be right back.”

 

* * *

  
  
  


“You’re feeding me an awful lot of whiskey for someone who is already worried about my mental state,” Shiro commented dryly as Lance signaled for another double shot of Jameson and then slid it in front of him when the bartender sat it down.

 

“I’m waiting until you’re buzzed enough to start talking instead of walling up,” Lance said simply, sipping at his vodka-soda as he watched him.

 

“I don't know what you want me to say, Lance,” he sighed, punctuating with a resigned chuckle after he downed the shot.

 

“How about you tell me why it got to you today?”

 

Shiro didn’t look up, staring instead down at the empty glass and the few small beads of amber liquor that sat in the bottom. He thought about it for a minute before he answered.

 

“I think-”

 

Shiro stopped, feeling his stomach knot as he tried to put it into words, and then tried again.

 

“I think I needed them, needed someone, to say that it was good.”

 

“I’m sure at least someone said it was good, Takashi.”

 

General platitudes didn’t cut it.

 

“Not enough for it to matter.”

 

“What is the endgame here? Good enough for what?”

 

Shiro felt tired and bitter, hating how the sound of his voice faltered and quieted as the shame he felt wove into the words.

 

“Good enough for me to believe it. They’re right, Lance; something isn’t there with it. I thought if I worked at it enough and I put in the hours then I could fix it but I just can’t make it work. Part of me was hoping that this exhibition would be what it took to show myself that I could do it but the other part of me was just praying I could get rid of those damned paintings so I wouldn’t have to see them anymore.”

 

He almost laughed at how Lance struggled to respond; it was so irritatingly obvious just how much he wanted to dispute his claim but couldn’t. Shiro signalled for another shot while Lance searched for words.

 

“Everyone hits a creative slump,” Lance finally said, brows drawn together, “that doesn’t mean that it’s the end.”

 

“I actually think it does, though,” Shiro rebutted after slamming the shot seconds after it was sat before him, “I think I have an idea about what the problem is. I’ll need some time to figure out if I’m onto something.”

 

Lance leaned back a little on the black leather barstool, eyes narrowing on him as he simply stared back, “you’re not going to tell me about it, are you?”

 

Shiro smirked, “absolutely not.”

 

“A loveable pain in my ass.”

 

Shiro chuckled and leaned over to kiss the sensitive spot behind Lance’s left ear. He was thankful for his intervention and even more thankful that he had seen through his flimsy excuses and gotten him out of there. A shiver ran down Lance’s spine at his touch and he felt his frown tilt, the multiple shots of warm whiskey in his belly winning over his myriad of rocky emotions.

 

Shifting his body to face Lance, Shiro leaned close, lips a millimeter from grazing the skin of his throat. He heard the soft gasp and saw Lance’s body tense, shivering against the rhythmic exhale of Shiro’s breath as it rolled across his skin. He couldn’t help but smile at the whispered “fuck” Lance let out as he drew away.

 

His eyes caught a flash of color near the end of the bar before he could suggest they find their way home and he looked out towards the door.

 

“Speaking of loveable pains in the ass,” he muttered.

 

Lance turned to see where he was looking, “isn’t that Matt’s little sister?”

 

“Yeah,” Shiro affirmed, looking out towards the small pixie like woman sitting at the end of the bar, still dressed in the jade button down long sleeve and black slacks that she’d been wearing when she’d shown up briefly for the exhibition to support her brother, “guess she had to disappear too.”

 

“Looks like she had someone to meet,” Lance shrugged, inclining his head towards the dark haired young man seated beside her, “anyway I’ll be right back.”

 

Lance hopped off of his barstool and Shiro noted, as he passed directly under one of the overhead lights, the darkening of his skin around his cheeks. Smug, Shiro watched him as he made his way to the bathroom near the front door. Katie caught his attention as he turned his head and she gave a small wave and a smile that he returned. 

 

He contemplated going over to say hello but decided against it; he doubted he would be decent company. While waiting for Lance, he paid and tipped the bartender before getting to his feet. The sound of the door opening caught his ear and he turned just in time to catch it happen. 

 

A pair of men walked into Hoolies sounding, just as much as they looked, like a pair of frat boy rejects. Their tacky bejeweled muscle shirts boasted a brand he’d only ever seen advertised alongside energy drinks atop their ripped jeans. The decibels rose and fell as they spoke, their voices so loud that they were nearly yelling before falling back to a regular volume. Shiro didn’t need to be close enough to smell them to know that this wasn’t the first bar they’d seen in the last few hours.

 

He was poised to turn his attention away and ignore them until the one on the left fell into the dark haired man seated beside Katie at the end of the bar just as Lance was walking out of the bathroom. Shiro noticed Lance freeze as the drunk fell, eyes locked on the two of them.

 

“Wh-hat the hell,” the drunk grumbled loudly as Katie’s acquaintance pushed him off, lip pulling into a snarl as he watched the drunk fall to the ground, “who th’ hell ya think you are?!”

 

“Beat it man,” the dark haired man ordered, getting to his feet, “you’re in no condition to be here and I don't want to hurt you.”

 

Shiro and Lance saw it coming at the same time, making eye contact with one another for a split second before the drunk staggered to his feet.

 

“Oh shit,” Lance exclaimed, reaching out to grab the man’s shoulder before the drunk reared back, “move!”

 

Moving with Lance, the man thrust his arm out to push him further back so that the both of them were out of the way of the drunk’s swing.

 

“Stay back, just let the idiot fall on his face,” the man barked over his shoulder to Lance.

 

The drunk was gearing up for another swing, taking a few steps closer while his friend watched from the side with glassy eyes, his previous intake seeming to have hit him like a brick. There were shuffles as the bartender moved to exit the bar and a few patrons moved in to assist, shouted orders as Katie and the others demanded they leave. All of the sounds, however, merged into a single, small, buzz in the back of Shiro’s mind as he looked at Lance.

  
The man, Katie’s drinking partner, still held Lance back while Lance’s grasp on his shoulder hadn’t slacked or fallen away. The movement around him slowed to a crawl as Shiro's eyes glued to the color running like a river, fluid and fast, from the inside of the white collar to fill the lines crossing Lance’s throat. That man,  _ whoever the hell he was _ , had just caused his lover’s brand to complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that you can find the most up to date schedule info for all my ongoing VLD fics [~HERE~](https://TheMoonlitPaladin.tumblr.com/WritingSchedule)
> 
> (There's also a link to this schedule on my AO3 profile!)
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> ### ☽ MP ☾


	4. Chapter 4

 

Lance’s body tensed as the drunk man who had thrown the first punch steadied himself, blinked a few times, and then took a threatening step forward. He looked up quickly, noticing how intently Shiro was staring at him before he broke eye contact and surged away from his barstool, catching the teetering drunk by the back of his shirt.

 

“Get out of here, both of you, before I call the police,” the bartenders voice boomed before Shiro could speak, nodding at Lance’s lover as he gave the man a push towards his friend who was already moving towards the door without a thought.

 

“Lucky bitch,” the drunk spat at the man guarding Lance before he staggered towards where his friend was already halfway out the door.

 

There was silence for a moment before Katie raised her pint glass, “never a dull moment.”

 

Her words seemed to allow the atmosphere to resettle, a sense of normalcy returning to the bar. Like a punctured balloon, the tension left Lance’s body in a ‘whoosh’ of relief and he released the stranger’s shoulder as he sighed. The dark haired man let his arm fall away and he turned to look over his shoulder, lips pulling upwards in a very slight, amused, smile.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Yeah,” Lance murmured, at a loss momentarily at how striking his profile was up close.

 

There was a thin, straight, scar crossing his left cheekbone beneath thick-lashed dark slate eyes and the long, black, hair he kept pulled into a ponytail at the crown of his head, accompanied by the bangs that fell around his face, gave him a wild, attractive, appearance. Snapping out of his momentary fascination, Lance moved past him and made for Shiro with a smile. 

 

“Hey Superman,” he greeted, climbing back onto his stool beside his lover, leaning his body to nudge him playfully with his shoulder, “thanks for saving us.”

 

He knew instantly that something wasn’t quite right with Shiro didn’t move his eyes from the empty glass in front of him, his brows knit as he stared down at it, “no problem, are you okay?”

 

If his lack of eye contact hadn’t been an indicator, the flat tone of his voice would have been.

 

“I’m fine,” Lance answered, leaning onto the bar and craning his head to try to get a look at him, “are you?”

 

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

 

“Then why do you look upset?”

 

It was true; as Lance ducked his head to look at his face, he saw his clenching and unclenching jaw, dull eyes, and pressed lips . His heart squeezed at the sight, a strange uncertainty in his chest. He suspected he had been thinking about the paintings again.

 

“Takashi-”

 

“Excuse me.”

 

Lance turned to the left and Shiro finally looked up, angling his body slightly to the right to see Katie and her friend standing behind them. The man gestured to the bartender and put a hand lightly on both of their shoulders.

 

“These two,” he nodded at him before focusing his attention on them, “thanks for your help, I got your next round. Have a good one.”

 

“No problem,” Lance smiled slightly, noticing the change that came and went in Shiro’s eyes out of his periphery.

 

“Sure,” Shiro added, casually reaching up to readjust his shirt, brushing the man’s hand so that he pulled iit away, “thanks. Be safe you two.”

 

The other man didn’t seem the least bit perturbed but Lance’s smile dropped as he watched his lover.

 

“You too,” Katie smiled and waved, “I’ve had enough excitement. Catch you later.”

 

He waited until the pair had turned back towards the doors and let themselves out, allowing himself a minute to formulate the question.

 

“What is it, Takashi? I know something’s wrong.”

 

Shiro sighed heavily, turning his body so that he was facing Lance who mimicked his motion. The expression Shiro wore had Lance’s chest tightening, the hurt that he saw there confusing him, worrying him. 

 

“Hey,” he prodded softly, the silence only heightening his discomfort as he waited.

 

“Do you have your mirror on you?”

 

Lance’s unease rose as he nodded, reaching into the pocket of his slacks to pull out the rectangular compact that Shiro had given him. It wasn’t something he left home without if he could help it; it was like a good luck charm. 

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

“Take a look in it.”

 

Shiro’s lip tilted up at his confusion but there was no humor, only a disconcerting sadness. Lance was afraid as his fingers crossed over the elaborate blue and silver dancing lion on the front of the compact, searching for the small knob that released the latch. In the back of his mind he feared that he already knew what he was looking for. As the compact opened, he held it up in front of him. The mirror almost slipped from his hand as it shook, his gasp sharp.

 

His brand had been completed. There were four thick black lines making up his collar, the top two and bottom two making up two matching borders while the center space was the largest, the size of both top and bottom combined. Inside the top and bottom border were wave patterns in black, laid over a cream background, and in between them was a sea of soft blue covered in curling, cream colored, vines. 

 

“When,” he asked hoarsely, though he was sure he already knew.

 

“When he put his arm out to keep you out of the way and told you to stay back.”

 

Lance’s heart fell straight into his stomach and he understood the pain he’d seen on Shiro’s face; while the love of his life sat to his left, his ‘soulmate’ had just walked out the door. Unable to say a word, Lance turned back towards the bar, propped his elbows on the wood, and dropped his face in his hands. He didn’t want to chase him, attractive though he might have been, but he could only imagine what was going through Shiro’s mind. He’d been waiting so long, so very long, for the brand to complete and had almost come to grips with the idea that it was never going to happen for them.

 

This wasn’t what he wanted, it wasn’t what he’d hoped for. Lance took a few deep breaths and tried to settle his rapidly beating heart, lifting his head after a few minutes to face Shiro who was still watching him, looking almost dejected.

 

“I think we should go home,” was all Lance could say.

 

* * *

  
  


The ride back to their apartment was tense and quiet, the space between them filled with questions and fears neither dared speak aloud lest they become real. Lance wanted so badly to say something, anything, but he held his tongue. But by the time they finally got home, Lance just couldn’t stand the suffocating silence anymore. 

 

“You know this doesn’t change anything, right?”

 

Shiro didn’t say anything and Lance went on.

 

“It doesn’t mean anything.  _ I love you. _ This brand means nothing, it changes nothing, and I have to know that you know that,” he said quietly, searching his eyes as he spoke and resisting the urge to reach out for him, knowing that he was pained.

 

Thankfully, Shiro reached out for him. Lance melted against his chest instantly, wrapping his arms around him as Shiro held him tight. Pale bangs tickled his skin as Shiro bowed his head, holding him as though he feared he might slip away.

 

“I love you, Lance,” Shiro whispered, his voice ragged and raw.

 

“Then trust me,” Lance murmured back, “and stop looking like you think I’m about to run out the door to chase a stranger.”

 

Shiro lifted his head, ghosting his lips over his temple, “I trust you implicitly, but you didn’t have to watch it happen. I know that the brand not completing for us upset you and seeing it complete  _ on you _ in front of my own eyes with someone else was just more than I could take tonight.”

 

“If it makes you feel any better, it wasn’t exactly easy to watch you get beaten down twice tonight, either.”

 

Shiro chuckled softly and it did Lance a great deal of good to see that his shoulders weren’t so tense and, most importantly, that he was looking at him.

 

“If I told you that I didn’t want to let you go tonight,” Shiro leaned his head down so that his forehead was leaned against Lance’s, “what would you say?”

 

Pushing up, Lance placed a tiny kiss at the corner of his mouth, “I’d ask why the hell we’re still standing in the kitchen.”

  
  
  
  


Shiro smiled, the warmth he’d lost coming back to smolder in his chest as Lance took his hand and walked him down the hallway and into their room. He let himself be nudged onto the bed, his hands rising to rest on Lance’s hips as he lowered himself down onto his lap. Shiro didn’t make any movements for a moment, busy imprinting the image of his lover, his face lit by his smile, into every available area of his mind. He never wanted to forget this moment; he never wanted to forget any of their moments.

 

He reached for Lance, hand curling around the back of his neck to bring him closer, slotting their lips together. The feel of his body molding against him, the taste of his lips edged with whiskey, and the almost purr that emanated from Lance’s throat soothed his raw wounds. He took his time cementing his body on his mind, fingers skimming his form slowly, tracing his shape and just brushing his skin, soaking in everything that was Lance McClain.

 

“You’re touching me like you’re afraid I might break,” Lance hummed against his lips in between short kisses.

 

“Humor me.”

 

“Whatever you want, Mr. Shirogane.”

 

“That,” Shiro growled, shivering at the sultry tone and immediate bolt of heat that shot to his groin, “is asking for trouble.”

 

“I have no idea what you mean,” Lance beamed.

 

Hand still at his nape, Shiro tugged him closer, his lips dragging across his lover’s skin as he journeyed down his throat. When he reached his collarbone, he bit down, relishing the gasp and clench of Lance’s fingers where they sat on his shoulders. His mark trumped the other, the color from his bite already beginning to well, but it was a petty, hollow, victory.

 

“Takashi?”

 

Shiro hadn’t realized that he’d been staring for so long until his name registered in his ears. His gaze had been pulled to the back of Lance’s neck where color continued down into his shirt.

 

“Your brand doesn’t stop at your throat anymore.”

 

“What?”

 

Shiro straightened, pulling back, “it goes down into your shirt.”

 

Lance raised a brow, “there are easier ways of getting me out of my clothes, Takashi.”

 

“I know, I’m intimately familiar with them. Would you mind if I look at it?”

 

“You were about to see me naked anyway so,...”

 

Lance made to start unbuttoning his vest when Shiro stopped him, laying his hand over where his lay on the first button.

 

“Let me.”

 

He took his time, enjoying the flare of arousal Lance didn’t bother hiding as he eased his vest off of his shoulders, taking painstaking care with each button of his long sleeve. 

 

“Menace,” Lance sighed.

 

Shiro could only smile. After freeing him from the waist up, Shiro had him stand and turn. 

 

“What does it look like?”

 

“Your collar runs all the way down your spine,” Shiro told him, fingertips tracing the thick line that the brand made down his back, ending just under the waistband of his slacks, “and ends right here. There’s a place that looks like it’s been broken, with little fragments, right here just below the middle of your back. When it gets to your waistband it splits and branches out, stopping just shy of your hips and tapering to a point. It suits you; it’s beautiful. The lines inside of it make it look like a mosaic.”

 

Lance shivered as he traced the brand back up to his throat, turning to face him so he could reach for his shirt, “before you ask, yes you can take a picture but later.”

 

“How’d you know,” Shiro laughed, “I was just thinking that I’d love to take a photo of it.”

 

“I know you,” Lance winked as he began unbuttoning the plum shirt.

 

Shiro rubbed his thumbs under the waistband of Lance’s slacks as he got to the third button but he paused when he noticed that Lance’s hands had frozen.

 

“Shiro?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“We might have to go looking for that guy after all.”

 

Shiro knit his brows, “what?”

 

“Turn around and look in the mirror by the bed. Yours completed too.”

 

Whipping around, Shiro quickly crossed the room to the mirror as he unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way, peeling it open to reveal his open, vibrant, laurel-esque wreath. Red, blue-violet, and white flowers filled the once underwhelming brand, rounding it out and reaching upwards to end just above the collar. In the center, also in the center of his chest, was what looked like a bench with what appeared to be a carved creature in each arm.

 

“What the hell,” he murmured as he stared at the brand on his reflection, “it must have been someone at the show… God, I hope it wasn’t that drunk; that’d be terrible just by association.”

 

Lance plopped down on the bed, watching him, “he had a brand on the side of his neck that was either a really half done outline of Mr. Potato Head or a mark and it didn’t change. Plus, he didn’t talk to you, so that wouldn’t complete it. The only other person you touched and spoke to was that older woman from the show.”

 

As nauseous as he felt about the entire situation, he couldn’t help but snicker at the scrunched up face that he could see Lance making in the mirror.

 

“She’s married to her soulmate; I met him when I helped with her daughter’s wedding. It’s not her.”

 

“We didn’t go anywhere else, I watched you like a creepy hawk almost all night, and the only people you had contact with wouldn’t have ft the requirements.”

 

“I didn’t touch him though-”

 

Lance rolled his eyes, “yes you did; you touched him when you moved his hand off of your shoulder. It wasn’t subtle either, by the way.”

 

“I was hardly in a mood for subtlety,” he shrugged, “but you have a point.”

 

Shiro turned away from the mirror and took a seat on the bed, reclining against the quilted headboard, “it doesn’t make sense though, does it? I’ve never heard of three people being done like this.”

 

“Well, polyamory exists so I’d assume that it would be safe to reason that there can be multiple soulmates for a person. Plus, remember that story a while back about the woman whose brand changed after her first soulmate died? She was supposed to find another one and you can’t rationalize that with reincarnation because it would be too soon. That hadn’t been reported before.”

 

“But the brands only work in two stages, the initial and the complete. How would that work with three people? Would it change a little if you found one and then finish when you found the other? None of this makes sense.”

 

“I don’t know anymore than you do, Takashi,” Lance said thoughtfully, “but it might be worth a try to see if we can find him and check out his brand. I’m curious and part of me needs to see if it completed normally since this is definitely anything but the norm.”

 

There was a little unease in his gut at the thought of Lance wanting to meet with the man who had completed his brand but he didn’t blame him. The situation had changed the moment that it became a possibility for him to have completed his own brand as well. If their brands and their theories were trustworthy then, at least on some level, he felt a very miniscule sense of relief; their brands not completing for one another alone might not have to mean that they  _ weren’t _ soulmates. 

 

“If you’re serious, I know a way to find him. He was at the bar with Katie so I’m sure I could get her to get in touch with him.”

 

“Are you okay with the idea of that though,” Lance asked, “I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. After seeing that look on your face tonight I really don’t think I could handle making you sit through that, even just to humor me.”

 

Nobody read him quite like Lance and he couldn’t help but reach out to pull him against his side, resting his cheek atop his head after he easily slid into place against him. There was a peace in being saturated with his warmth. 

 

“I’ll be okay. It makes me feel less uneasy to imagine that the brands can work for more than two people.”

 

“Even if it didn’t, I wouldn’t be skipping off to run away with him.”

 

“That's not what I meant. If it is a case of the three of us then that would mean you and I have been soulmates all along.”

 

It was almost comical how Shiro could practically see the idea smack Lance over the head as he turned his head up to look at him, his mouth forming a surprised ‘o’ before breaking into a wide smile. 

 

“I didn’t think of it that way,” he exclaimed, eyes so bright that it looked as though he hid the light of stars within him, “that’d be everything that, I mean, well it would just be  _ everything _ !”

 

“Don’t get too excited,” Shiro cautioned him with a gentle voice, trying not to dim the joy that shone from him, “we don’t know anything for sure yet.”

 

Lance took a few dramatically deep breaths and gave a good yoga exhale before he managed to still his vibrating. 

 

“You’re right. Do you want to meet up with him, would that be something you can do?”

 

“Yeah. We should see if he’s around the area; I want to see it for myself.”

 

“Poor guy might feel like a carnival attraction.”

 

“He might want some visual confirmation himself,” Shiro shrugged, “who knows. It’s not like we can make him meet up, anyway.”

 

Lance hummed in agreement and was quiet for a few minutes before he spoke again, “what happens after we see it? I mean, if it completed and everything then what comes next?”

 

“I don’t know,” Shiro answered honestly, “we can figure it out afterwards; one thing at a time.”

 

“When do you want to try to talk to him?”

 

Shiro looked down at him, big blue eyes staring up at him with a mix of excitement and curiosity that looked akin to childlike wonder. He had to smile a little.

 

“The sooner the better, right? I’ll shoot Matt a text and have him tell Katie to call me.”

 

Lance rolled his eyes, “seriously? Matt is the worst at replying to texts.... Unless you suddenly sprouted a vagina.”

 

“Alright, I’ll call him then,” he laughed, not discounting the absolute validity of that statement, “give me a second.”

 

Lance straightened and scooted back to his side of the bed while Shiro pulled his phone out of his pocket. The uncertainty that had been the star of the show most of the night resurfaced as he pulled up his friend’s number, swallowing against the tightness it brought to his throat as he tapped ‘call.’ One ring, two rings, three rings-

 

“Hey, what’s up?”

 

Shiro gave Lance a split second glance before answering.

 

“Hey Matt, I need you to do me a favor; it’s important.


	5. Chapter 5

**Left hook. Leg sweep. Right Jab.**

**Counter. Take-down. Fatality.**

 

“You know,” Katie commented around a mouthful of coca-cola gummies, pressing hard at the buttons on her Playstation controller as they entered the second round, “it’s really stupid to pick Sub-Zero when you can’t use him for shit. I even gave you a handicap and picked Cassie.”

 

“I really like how you pretend that you picked her to help me out when you just think she’s super hot.”

 

“Hey, I’m not debating the bone factor, I’m just saying that if I wanted to ruin you I could have used Scorpion.”

 

“Keep talking, I’m going to wreck your girl.”

 

“How? She can’t pity you to death.”

 

Despite his talk, she managed to outmaneuver him by a sliver. Out of his periphery Keith could see her smug grin growing.

 

“You’re so going down.”

 

“I’d tell you to put your money where your mouth is but I’ve already taken your dignity and you have nothing else to lose.”

 

Keith desperately wished he had a throw pillow to chuck at her, but his apartment was exceptionally bare for someone who had already been living there for two years. He managed to win a scant handful of rounds as they played but, by the time they had both tired, she had come out as the undisputed, and unsurprising, victor. 

 

“Whatcha wanna do now,” Pidge asked, taking a few drinks of her vibrantly colored Baja Blast Mountain Dew and grabbing the box of Teddy Grahams that she’d sat on the table by her side of the couch.

 

“How about stage an intervention? You’re going to explode if you keep eating like that.”

 

She didn’t bat an eye, plunging forearm deep into the almost depleted box of goodies, “whatever, dude. The other day I watched you inhale an entire lasagna like it was air, I reject your judgement. Besides, it’s  _ your _ job to be fit, you have to be a role model and shit. I have no such obligations.”

 

“Even a trainer can have a stress eat every once in a while. Besides, at least when I ‘inhale’ food, it’s made for adults.”

 

“Don’t shit talk the choco-chip teddies; they’re pure sugary goodness and better than your snobbery.”

 

“It amazes me that you aren’t as wide as you are tall considering the way you eat.”

 

“I know, isn’t it great?”

 

He rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless, knowing she could damn near eat whatever she wanted with the effort that she put into her routine workouts. He admired her drive even when he was busy cracking on her snack choices. 

 

“Besides,” she added, looking around as though she hadn’t been to his home just short of a million times, “I wouldn’t be eating my own snacks if you had literally anything else besides the bare necessities here. It’s been years and it still looks like you moved in yesterday.”

 

She was right. The apartment was small, a single bedroom and bath, and yet he still didn’t have enough in the way of possessions to make it look anything but empty. The old brown leather sofa in the center of the room was joined by a large television, Playstation, two small side tables, and a coffee table that doubled as a footrest. The only other evidence that it was inhabited was the coat rack where he had his bike helmet and seasonal jackets. 

 

There were no photos on the walls, no colorful curtains to offset the eggshell colored walls, and no traces of warmth. The kitchen cupboards only held a few pieces of dishware and a stack of paper plates and plastic utensils were placed neatly on the bistro table against the wall. He owned only what he needed to make the most basic healthy meals for himself and even then he mostly bought throwaway containers or bakeware. It looked as though he’d only just finished unpacking what few belongings he owned.

 

“I don’t spend a lot of time here, what did you expect?”

 

“I dunno, an apartment that looks like a human being lives in it?”

 

“I don’t like clutter,” he shrugged.

 

“For someone who wants to feel like they have a home, you aren’t making an effort.”

 

Her words stung and he had to resist the urge to lash out in defense. 

 

“You think I want to live in Silver Terrace forever? I’m just here until I find a better neighborhood that I can afford without selling my soul.”

 

“Why, so you can live out of a box there, too?”

 

“I’m not doing this again, Katie.”

 

“Oh shit, I’m Katie now,” she raised her hands in surrender, “okay, I’m sorry, we’ll talk about something else.”

 

She hummed loudly for a few seconds while she pursed her lips.

 

“Oh, I’ve got it. We can talk about how proud I am that you didn’t straight up murder that drunk dude who fell on you at Hoolies tonight.”

 

He snickered, “I might have if that guy wouldn’t have been behind me. It was nice of him to try to help even though he would have gotten laid out if that drunk hadn’t been so out of it.”

 

Pidge nodded, “yeah, it wasn’t like he knew you could handle it yourself. He was awfully ready to put his pretty face on the line for someone who uses it to make a living.”

 

“What?”

 

“He’s a model, I think Matt said that he does stuff for skincare and makeup.”

 

Keith thought back to black rimmed blue eyes, shaggy dark hair, and flawless bronzed skin.

 

“Yeah, I’d buy that.”

 

Pidge grinned, waggling her eyebrows, “what, you think your white knight was hot?”

 

“I like what I like,” Keith shrugged, enjoying how his acknowledgment took the wind out of her sails.

 

“You can’t let me enjoy anyth-”

 

Before she could finish, her phone began screeching unholy hell in the form of some new dubstep remix she’d found. Keith watched her grab her phone from the coffee table.

 

“Hello?”

 

He reached for the television remote and muted the volume before opening up a nostalgic side-scroller to play while she took her call. 

 

“What? Why would he be looking for me? Huh, okay, I’ll see what’s up. Thanks, love you too. Bye.”

 

After she disconnected, she reached for her small green backpack beside the couch and pulled out a pen, uncapping it to write a series of numbers on the back of her hand that she’d been repeating under her breath since getting off of the phone. 

 

“Either that was your brother or you’ve been holding out info on me.”

 

“Yeah, Matt said that Shiro had called him wanting to get in touch with me. Oh, he’s the boyfriend of your white knight, the guy from the bar with the white and black hair,” she clarified as she punched in a series of digits on her phone, “I’m going to see what he wanted; it’s weird that he’d be looking for me.”

 

Again Keith turned his attention away, trying to focus on the game instead of listening in on her conversation. His best efforts, however, were still poor.

 

“Shiro? Hey, it’s Katie; Matt said you wanted me for something? Uh huh. I can, but why the interest?”

 

Slowly but surely, Keith lost interest in the game and, catching the suspicion in Katie’s voice, turned his attention to where he saw she was watching him. He could hear the muffled voice of the man on the other end and the more he spoke, the more Katie’s brows drew together.

 

“You’re sure about that? I’m sitting here with him right now, I’ll look.”

 

‘What,’ he mouthed, watching her shift her phone to her right hand.

 

“Turn your back to me,” she told him, shaking her head when he just looked at her, confused, “trust me.”

 

Keith reluctantly turned towards the wall, his back facing towards her. He felt her take the hem of his shirt and raise it, hissing out a breath.

 

“Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit,” she muttered, “yeah, it did. No, not right now; I want to talk about it first. Yeah. No problem. Bye.”

 

“You wanna tell me what’s going on,” Keith asked after she released his shirt, turning back to look at where she was staring at him.

 

She fiddled with her phone, transferring it from her right to left hand, smacking it lightly on the heel of her palm, before she answered.

 

“Your brand finished.”

 

“What? Seriously?”

 

She nodded solemnly, “yeah, and it happened at the bar. Shiro, your white knight’s boyfriend, thinks that you’re special.”

 

Something about the way she spoke had him feeling uneasy.

 

“Special how?”

 

“They’re convinced that you completed BOTH of theirs.”

 

“Is that a thing that can even happen?”

 

“I’ve never heard of it but, then again, we don’t really know much about them. Shiro seems very sure about it, though. He actually wants to talk to you.”

 

Keith had never really cared one way or the other about the brand on his flesh; it was easy to ignore since it was on his back. He’d thought about it only a handful of times, his life normally falling into one catastrophe or another that had a tendency to take up the majority of his mind. The times that he had been able to contemplate his marking, he’d come up torn. One one hand, he’d spent enough time rolling with the punches of uncertainty and a seemingly sadistic universe to be both fearful and spiteful in the face of change. On the other hand, as corny as it was, he could see his marking representing a bond he’d supposedly forged with another soul, a bond transcending time and reason, and that was a glimpse at a kind of meaning that he craved.

 

“What? Really?”

 

She shrugged, “yeah, it sounded important. I don’t think they’re going to try to make it a party of three so at least there’s that.”

 

He could see the worry on her face, settling into the lines of her frown.

 

“It sounds like you don’t think I’m good enough for pretty boy and his suave looking boyfriend. I could land a model and his boyfriend, you don’t know.”

 

“Yeah right; you’d have to be able to articulate your feelings more than twice a year to land that catch. Anyway, they wanted me to ask you if you’d be okay with talking with them but I wasn’t going to make you decide on the spot. You’ve had a lot to deal with already. I’ll give you Shiro’s number and you can decide what you want to do.”

 

“Thanks, I appreciate the concern.”

 

“I just don’t want you to get overwhelmed,” she shrugged, trying to pack away the worry and failing, “now, how about one more game before I head out?”

 

* * *

 

It was like they were mocking him. Keith stared down at the coffee table, at the side by side phone numbers sitting there. To the left was the number for the investigator, still unused, and to the right was the number for Shiro and his boyfriend, the pair who claimed to be his soulmates. Both of them represented the same thing- what the past held for the future.

 

He’d thought about it for a little while after Katie had left, about calling Shiro. He’d had to think about what his brand meant to him and whether talking to them served any kind of purpose. Of course, he knew about the benefits of understanding the brands but he also knew that it would mean hours of work spent with two strangers who might want more of him than he was willing to give. On the other hand, the idea of finding out more about himself, about the man he’d been, was enticing; maybe it would help the man he was.

 

Deciding to take a chance, he reached for his phone and dialed the number Katie had given him. It was picked up on the second ring. 

 

“Hello?’

 

Keith immediately recognized the rich, smooth, baritone.

 

He almost hung up but forced himself to speak, “uh, yeah, this is Keith… From the bar.”

 

“Oh! Hey, thanks for calling.”

 

He felt the need to shrug even though no one was there to witness it, playing off his nervousness, “sure. Katie said you wanted to talk with me?”

 

“Yeah, if you’re not busy and don’t mind talking about your brand.”

 

“I’ve got time, shoot.”

 

“Do you know if your brand has changed before? I mean, maybe something small but not big enough to register as a full completion?”

 

“I wouldn’t know, I can’t see it. It’s on my back.”

 

“Oh, then yeah, I get that. That answers my other questions. I’m sorry for interrupting your evening, I can imagine it was as much of a surprise for you as it was for us.”

 

“No, it’s fine. What were you hoping to hear?”

 

“To be honest with you? I’m not really sure,” Shiro chuckled, his unease lifting some of Keith’s own.

 

There was a shifting in the background seconds before another voice came through the line.

 

“We were hoping that your brand had maybe completed in parts or something. If there was some kinda middle ground between the partial and complete version of them then we could know for sure that it was you.”

 

Keith recognized that voice as the other man from the bar, the one Katie called his ‘white knight.’ There was a palpable enthusiasm in the man’s voice.

 

“Look, I don’t want to burst your bubble or anything but I’m not interested in-”

 

The man interrupted him almost immediately, “neither are we. We’re pretty happy in the romance department. This is kinda awkward, I get it, but are you busy?”

 

“Oh, okay, cool. No, did you want to meet up?”

 

“If it’s fine by you and you’re not about to go to bed or anything.”

 

Keith glanced at the clock, “no, I’ll be up for a while.”

 

“Do you live far from Bernal Heights?”

 

“Maybe about ten minutes? I could meet you at Aces down by third street in twenty.”

 

“We’ll be there. See you soon.”

 

“Sure, see ya.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The entire drive from his apartment, Keith wondered just what the hell he’d been thinking. As he passed staggered apartments lining the steep hills and miles of concrete and asphalt, he wondered what was driving him to meet them. Katie had been right, he didn’t need to overwhelm himself, but there was a little voice in the back of his head pushing him towards the all-night diner on third, the same little voice telling him that it was something he had to do. He wanted to analyze it almost as much as he wished it would shut the hell up. 

 

Aces High came up quickly on his right side and he pulled into the parking lot, eyes immediately finding the pair he was looking for standing beside a shiny, black, sedan. His stomach roared its discomfort, the sudden butterflies in his gut morphing into rabid wolverines as he pulled his bike into the empty spot beside them and deployed his kickstand. When he pulled off his helmet and got a clearer vision of them, his head began to pound. 

 

The hand holding his helmet dropped and he massaged at his temple with the other, squinting at them only to see a glimmer of… something else. It was like fog on his vision and in the waves and ripples of its movement he saw bare chests and those same curious, nervous, eyes staring back at him. In the wake of their watchfulness, a strange wariness flooded his limbs and there was apprehension and something akin to fear and wariness. He knew he had no reason to be worried about being around them, not as friends of Katie and Matt, but for a brief instance it throbbed within him, flickering dully in the depths of his chest. The fear and fog vanished as Shiro came over, concern stamped on his features as he saw him wobble.

 

“Hey, Keith? You okay?”

 

“Fine,” he managed, sliding off of the bike and blinking away whatever the hell he’d just imagined, “just got a headache.”

 

“You hungry? Maybe some food will help. I’ll buy,” Shiro offered, inclining his head towards the diner.

 

“Yeah, sure,” Keith nodded, willing to do just about anything to sit down until his head stopped spinning.

 

Shiro led the way, holding the door for him while White Knight walked in behind him. They were led to a booth by the door and, after their waiter got their drinks and departed, Shiro spoke.

 

“Sorry, I guess we haven’t introduced ourselves. My name is Takashi Shirogane, but you can just call me Shiro.”

 

“I’m Lance,” White Knight smiled, “thanks for coming.”

 

“Sure, no problem.”

 

They were quite a pair to look at. Shiro was the picture of casual refinement, his clothes stylish and downplayed, his hair brushed back and gelled with that tufted white forelock left down. Lance, however, was lighthearted seduction. His eyeliner was still in place, bringing out the lighter flecks of playful blue in his irises, and his hair was tousled, speaking of soft laughter amidst tangled sheets.

 

“Sorry to drag you out so late, Keith, but we have a few questions about your brand if you don’t care to answer them.”

 

He turned his attention to Shiro, “what would you like to know?”

 

“Did you talk to or touch anyone that you haven’t before?”

 

“No, until the bar I’d only gone to the gym and everyone there is a regular.”

  
“What about at the bar? Anyone there? Bartender?”

  
“Any other drunks, maybe,” Lance threw out with a small smile, seeming to pick up on his discomfort.

 

He appreciated the effort but it had the opposite effect, sending the rabid wolverines clawing up his gut instead.

  
“Nope, just the two of you.”

 

Shiro sighed, “okay, thanks.”

 

Lance’s hand touched Shiro’s arm lightly and he seemed to lean into his touch. Keith watched the silent exchange as they shared a conversation with a glance and he knew there was more to their questions.

 

“I know you didn’t want to ask me that here, you could have just asked me on the phone.”

 

Lance took the reigns, not bothering to deny it, “I’m going to have to get a little personal to explain this. You know how everybody says that you if you manage to figure out the meaning behind your brand that you get your memories and skills back?”

 

“Yeah, that’s pretty common knowledge.”

 

“I’m going to be honest with you, we’re interested in finding the meaning. Not because of any interest in the skills or whatever, but I’ve personally been really hung up on the idea that we’ve been together for so long and our brands didn’t complete for each other. If both of ours completed for you, though, and yours completed for us, then if we manage to figure it out, and it works, then we’ll know that we really are soulmates.”

 

Keith digested his words, and then his own bitterness as a small sprout of envy bloomed within him at how much care seemed to exist between them.

 

Shiro added, “I know that sounds stupid, but it’s something that we care about. We wanted to ask if you had any interest in helping us with that. We could pay for your time if that’s a problem.”

 

He looked from one man to the other and was both touched and overwhelmed by the hope he saw there. Lance wore his on his face, so open and unguarded that it warranted protection. Shiro was better, his own expression carefully barricaded. He could tell by the way their arms were close that they were holding hands beneath the table, waiting for him to answer them.

 

“You’re actually willing to pay me just to try to figure this out? Why bother? I mean, not to be rude, but if you care about each other what does it matter?”

 

Lance’s face fell and, though he tried to cover it up, Keith caught it.  _ Way to go, asshole, _ he thought as Lance’s unoccupied hand moved to his throat where his newly finished brand shone beautifully against his skin. He hated that his own bitterness had done that at the same time that he wondered why he felt so guilty? Putting that expression on his face had squeezed at his heart and he had no explanation other than guilt.

 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

 

Lance shook his head even as Shiro cast him a look, “It’s okay, I get it. I can’t really tell you why, because I don’t know. All I know is that it’s always been something that upset me and I… I just want to know.”

 

It seemed to him that Lance was searching for confirmation of his place with Shiro and, while Keith had the urge to roll his eyes, he could sympathize. Keith was looking for some kind of confirmation of his own. He’d been so used to moving as a kid and being pushed off onto people that he craved the kind of permanency that came with love, of fitting in and being cared for. The life he’d lived had stamped him as ‘burden,’ a tax on those who’d known him and a plague for those passersby who didn’t. Katie was the only person he’d ever managed to get close to. Lance was looking for proof of his belonging and, in some way, that was exactly what Keith was looking for too.

 

“I need some time to think about it. Is it alright if I get back to you? I just remembered that I have a busy day tomorrow and I should get back.”

 

He didn’t care about the work, not really. He had all the time in the world after hours when his appointments were over and he’d be happy to take their money for reading through a few books or whatever the hell it took. But he had a lot on his mind already and worrying about two strangers was the last thing he really wanted to put himself through. Maybe, he hoped even as he felt like a selfish bastard, if he let it hang in the air for a while it would go away. 

 

The pair before him nodded, though he had no doubt they saw through his lie.

 

“That’s fine,” Shiro said as he watched him slide out of the booth, “take all the time you need. You have my number and, if you lose it, Katie has it.”

 

“Right. Well, it was nice meeting you. I’ll see ya.”

 

“You too, Keith.

 

He felt like a bastard as he stood, Shiro’s forced smile crumbling a little as Lance leaned into him to seek his support. He felt terrible for meeting them, he felt terrible for lying to them, and he felt terrible that he felt terrible. As he walked out, he remembered the earlier fog that had veiled his vision and he wondered, briefly, what it had to do with those two men sitting inside that diner. 


	6. Chapter 6

 

The lights were blindingly bright and the smell of Rodrigo's cologne was making him nauseous but Lance kept his patient smile, moving his face to the left and right again as his photographer snapped away. He slid his hand up Allura’s arm, curving his wrist at her shoulder, fingers splayed as she sidled close, head dipped back so that the gleam of her flawless skin was present as her hair fell in a cloud of white down her back. He didn’t get why they wanted innuendo to sell moisturizer but he didn’t ask questions when they showed him the dollar signs.

 

The set was quieter than usual since the last tech girl had been fired. Lance did note, however, that the amount of wiring crossing the walkway had been dramatically reduced and Rodrigo had been curiously docile for much of the morning. Once they had finished, Allura grabbed a drink and sauntered over to him.

 

“What’s the matter?”

 

Pausing mid-sip, he lowered his water bottle, “excuse me?”

 

With hawk-sharp eyes she stared down at him, her heels giving her a height advantage.

 

“Something’s upsetting you,” she clarified, crossing her arms over her chest and gesturing choppily with the water bottle in her hand, “and you’re going to tell me what it is because we wouldn’t have had to do so many shots today if you didn’t look like someone told you that your grandmother died.”

 

“Sorry,” he shrugged, taking another sip of his water before capping it, “I’ve just been preoccupied.”

 

“Is Shiro not letting you get any sleep,” she dropped her voice, waggling her eyebrows in an attempt to get something like a smile out of him.

 

“Nah, it’s not that. He’s actually been pretty busy at work lately. I’ve just got a few things on my mind,” he replied easily, not rising to her bait as he might have normally.

 

“How about we head over to that new cajun place on third? You can tell me about it so I can stop worrying about you. You don’t seem like yourself.”

 

He didn’t _feel_ like himself. It had been two weeks since he and Shiro had met with Keith at Aces, two weeks that had followed as pure radio silence. Of course, after the meeting, Shiro and Lance had gone home and spent an hour or so talking it over and making sure that they didn’t get their hopes or expectations high. He’d known, as Shiro had, that Keith had little intentions of contacting them again; it had been as clear as day on his face when he’d slid out of that booth. Despite that, however, Lance was still holding onto some hope that he would contact them.

 

He nodded his agreement and the pair walked quietly from the studio together, Allura leading the way to where she’d parked. The radio filled the space as they drove the short distance up from the studio to third street, Lance’s mood only souring when he caught the top of the card that made up the sign for ‘Aces High.’ The restaurant she’d chosen had an outdoor patio separated from the sidewalk by a low, distressed, wooden fence and, under the premise of some sunlight possibly improving his mood, she chose a spot for them in the corner. Improvement certainly wasn’t on the menu when every time he turned his head he could see the glint from that damned diner sign and feel the echo of Keith’s words from the memory that played from the night they’d all met there.

 

She leaned back in her chair, sipping at her water, “spill.”

 

“So, obviously you’ve seen that my brand has changed.”

 

She nodded, adjusting the wide-brimmed white sun hat to keep the sun from her eyes, “I didn’t want to bring it up until you did.”

 

“Well, the guy who completed it-”

 

“-is he cute?”

 

“- _oh my god, shut up_. The guy who completed it actually completed Shiro’s too.”

 

That had her eyebrows shooting up to touch her hat and her unpainted mouth falling open.

 

“What? Are you serious? How did that even happen?”

 

“An almost bar fight at Hoolies on the opening night of Shiro and Matt’s show.”

 

“Bar fight? Who even are you?”

 

He felt like a badass for all of ten seconds; it might be the only time he would get to talk about being in a bar fight since, if he were in a real one, he would likely be clobbered.

 

“We weren’t the ones throwing punches,” he assured her, lips quirking into a small smile despite himself at her open surprise

 

He filled her in on the rest of the details, sharing how Shiro had watched his brand complete and the feelings of guilt that had been resting heavily on his mind ever since. He told her about meeting Keith just a few blocks away, about how he’d listened to their side and humored them.

 

“-and I know it’s stupid to hope, but it’s been like two weeks and we haven’t heard anything,” he muttered as he speared a shrimp from the plate in front of him, popping it into his mouth like he had a personal grievance with it.

 

Allura had been quiet during his retelling of the events, looking away only to thank the waitress for filling their glasses and bringing their orders. Her leg, bare as it slid through the high slit in her floral pink sundress, bounced where she had it crossed, a telltale sign that the gears in her mind were turning.

 

“I don't think it’s bad to hope,” she said slowly after a few minutes of digesting his words, “but I think it’s dangerous to hold out hope for too long. Why don’t you find a way to look into it on your own?”

 

Lance rolled his eyes, “what, did you think I’ve been pining away with my thumb up my ass? I’ve been looking… and looking, and looking, and looking.”

 

He pointed to the intricate collar around his throat, bright between the sides of the grey polo’s collar, “this thing has no recognizable parts, okay? Like, how the shit am I even supposed to figure this out? It’s not like I have a symbol that might mean something, like you do.”

 

Her hand automatically fluttered to her stomach, just above her navel, where he knew she had the outline of what looked like a sun, in metallic gold, on her skin. Her lips pursed as she stared at his brand for a moment.

 

“Yeah, I guess I get what you’re saying,” she conceded, “but maybe you could start with looking into Shiro’s? If I were you, I’d look into that couple from Japan; you remember that from a few years ago?”

 

He didn’t know a person who didn’t. A few years prior, a couple out of Japan had not only found the meanings of their brands, but one of them had published a book that detailed their journey and how they’d come to understanding. It had been of double importance, one side being that they’d given others an idea of where to start when looking for meaning in their brands and the second being that one of them, a historian, now had a first hand account of important historical and cultural knowledge to share with his peers.

 

After the book, ‘Inked,’ had been published, there had been a dramatic rise in mates trying to replicate the couple’s luck. Their journey had given hope to the hopeless and their names had been plastered across papers and internet articles across the globe. Gradually they had retreated from the public eye, leaving only a few articles and their story as stepping stones for the lost who hoped to find their own path.

 

“Yeah, I guess I can start getting into the history. Maybe, if I can understand them better, I’ll have a point to search from.”

 

She beamed a perfect smile at him, her relief practically palpable, “that sounds great! And, if you get stuck, I’m sure you could always just send an email to those guys. It might be a long shot, but if they replied then that would be a big help.”

 

Her smile was contagious and he responded with one of his own, feeling a world better than he had when they’d first arrived at the restaurant.

 

“Yeah, you’re right. Okay, I feel better and you’ve let me talk long enough,” he forked another shrimp, eyeing her with a devious grin, “now, tell me about that date you had last weekend.”

 

If her eyes could have rolled any harder he would have watched them pop straight out of her head and go sailing across the cement floor. She cut a piece of her chicken and brought it to her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before she spoke.

 

“He asked me if I was into nipple play before the date was even over,” she said without an ounce inflection, continuing to cut another piece of chicken as though casually uttering the phrase ‘nipple play’ aloud was a normal part of her daily life.

 

Lance choked on his water, coughing a few good times before he could pull in a big gulp of air to offset the liquid he’d just inhaled.

 

“I thought you said he seemed like a perfect gentleman,” he managed after nearly drowning on a glass of lemon water.

 

“‘Seemed’ was the keyword there,” she sighed, “every time that I met him during a shoot he was extremely professional and kind. It was crazy how much of that was a put-on. I let it go when he showed up to Marco’s in flip flops and board shorts, I let it go when he got testy that I leaned against his car, and I let it go when he winked at himself in his rearview mirror. When he told me he hated and was allergic to cats, I had already decided but then he had to go and ask if I was worried about going home alone and then proceed to ask about my preference for nipple play and whether or not I was on birth control.”

 

She narrowed her eyes as she chewed, not missing the quivering corners of Lance’s lips as he tried not to burst into laughter, “we hadn’t even left the restaurant yet, Lance.”

 

He couldn’t help it; he had to laugh.

 

“You should have let him come home with you so that he could meet Taiga and Alistair,” he suggested after he managed a breath in between his laughter, picturing the two seal-point ragdoll kittens that Allura had adopted a few months earlier, “he would have swollen up like a balloon and then you could have just pushed him into oncoming traffic.”

 

“I almost wish I had,” she mumbled bitterly, “I have the worst luck with dating.”

 

“You really do. If it makes you feel better, though, that story really lifted my spirits.”

 

“Oh,” she commented dryly, though he could see she was pleased, “I’m so glad that my pain makes you feel better.”

 

“What are friends for,” Lance grinned.

 

She smiled but it fell away as she glanced at her watch, cursing under her breath, “shit, I’m going to be late. I forgot, I promised dad that I would go with him to see that new superhero movie.”

 

“He’s gotten bored since retirement, huh?”

 

The flat look she gave him as she grabbed her purse had him trying to contain another laugh, “you have no idea.”

 

When she pulled out her wallet, Lance shook his head, “I’ve got it, I appreciate you making me feel better. You can buy next time.”

 

“You’re a good egg,” she sighed as she stood, coming around to place a small kiss at his temple, “I’ll see you soon. If you feel bad again and need a pick-me-up, just give me a call; you know I’ll be there.”

 

“I know,” he smiled, “go on before you’re late. Tell Alfor I said hey.”

 

“Will do!”

 

He watched as she picked her way through the tables, almond skin still glowing from the shoot. It was a shame that she had such terrible encounters when she was one of the most beautiful people he knew, both inside and out. He sat at the table for another few minutes, picking idly at the seafood pasta and thinking of Allura’s advice, when the throaty growl of an engine caught his attention.

 

When Lance looked up to the intersection, the stoplight practically six yards from his seat, he saw a familiar black bike with a black and red clad rider. The rider came to a stop in front of the red light, feet out to stabilize himself. Lance found it impossible to look away, sure that it was him. When the rider turned his head, Lance couldn’t seem to stop his hand from raising in a slight wave. For a moment the rider was still but, after a few seconds, he raised his partially gloved hand in a greeting just before the light turned green.

 

Just like that, Keith was gone, speeding down the street. It took a power of will that Lance hadn’t been aware he possessed to stop imagining the curve of the leather to his body as he’d watched him speed down the street.

 

Lance sighed loudly, ignoring the raised brows he earned from the scant handful of people who had chosen to eat on the patio. It irritated him that he couldn’t let it go. It was Keith’s right to do whatever the hell he wanted and he was under no obligation to work with them. Something about that, though, settled into his skin like a parasite, constantly moving and biting at him, infecting him with a bitterness that wasn’t like him. _Why_ couldn’t he let it go?

 

He stared down at his plate while he pondered it, pushing it away in frustration when he came up empty. There was no use in debating it now, he thought as he leaned his head back, letting the cool breeze that whipped through his hair take hold of his meaningless thoughts and push them away. Knowing that Shiro wouldn’t be home until much later, he found himself sitting there for a little while longer, ordering himself a dessert to go. His attention was drawn back to the road, however, when he thought he heard that bike again.

 

Lance wasn’t wrong. He watched, brows knit, as that familiar black bike sped down the road once more, parking alongside the sidewalk instead of continuing. Deploying the kickstand, the rider let the bike center before throwing a leg over it and facing him. The only thing dividing the two of them was the low fence and that didn’t stop him, easily leaping within the border and walking along the side until he came up to Lance’s empty seat.

 

Reaching up, Keith pulled off his helmet, his unbound hair shaking free, and offered Lance a small smile.

 

“Hey, this seat taken?”

 

“Uh, no, feel free.”

 

Lance could see the other patrons watching them, half curious and half disgusted that someone would forego decorum like they’d never been taught manners. It hardly mattered to Lance who was too busy caught between his own curiosity and a strange giddiness at seeing him again. Keith unzipped the burgundy accented black leather jacket, and pulled up the thin black hair band around his neck to push the sweat soaked bangs back from his face. It was a crime that he looked so impossibly attractive covered in sweat, skin glistening in the rays of a mid afternoon sun with his hair loose to lay just past his shoulders.

 

“So, uh,” Lance cleared his throat, trying not to look like he was drowning in his own drool, “hi.”

 

“Hey, sorry to interrupt you but I needed to talk to you. I’m sorry for not messaging or calling you and Shiro. To be completely up front with you, I was hoping if I gave it enough time that you’d just let it go.”

 

While Lance had known that, and Shiro had known that, it still felt like a slap in the face. Lance clenched and unclenched his jaw, taking a minute to respond.

 

“Then why bother stopping?”

 

“Because I feel like shit about it and I don’t like it. I circled the neighborhood twice before I made up my mind to come back. I was sort of hoping you were gone.”

 

“Sorry to burst your bubble.”

 

Keith rubbed the back of his neck and took a deep breath, letting out a long sigh.

 

“What do you want to do, Keith,” Lance asked after the silence between them drug out too long, “I don't know what you want.”

 

Keith pressed his lips together while he thought about how to answer and Lance had to look away.

 

“Look, I feel like an asshole about ditching you guys, okay? But I don’t know how to go about helping you.”

 

“...But you’re willing to?”

 

The hope that had been a simple ember, clutching at life within the depths of Lance’s chest, began to grow.

 

“I mean, yeah, I guess.”

 

The previous admission all but forgotten, Lance’s smile pulled so wide it started to ache. Keith seemed caught off guard by the shift but, after a moment, he returned his smile, albeit a bit tentatively.

 

“That means a lot to me,” Lance admitted honestly, “so thank you.”

 

“Don’t mention it. I don’t know how you guys want to do this or how to start-”

 

Lance snorted, “join the club, dude. My brand is so generic and vague that I can’t get shit out of it. What the hell am I supposed to look up? Pretty collars?”

 

Keith chuckled and the sound warmed Lance’s heart.

 

“I haven’t bothered with mine, but I bet it’s easier.”

 

Lance perked up, “could you show it to me? Or do you have a picture or something?”

 

“Sure, hold on.”

 

Lance had thought he’d been in luck and that, for some reason he wouldn’t question, that he had a digital copy. Keith didn’t pull out his phone, however. Shrugging out of his jacket, Keith paid no mind to the other patrons and lifted the black muscle shirt directly over his head, bearing his toned torso.

 

His arms were corded in lean muscle and his well defined abdomen spoke of a clear gym routine. Lance spent nearly all of his willpower resisting the urge to grab his water and chug it like a man four days deep in the Sahara as Keith turned in his seat to show him his branded back. It wasn’t that he’d never seen an attractive man before, he saw more than his fair share in his line of work, but there was something about Keith that spoke to him on a level that was almost spiritual… The same way Shiro had.

 

“Do, uh, do you mind if I take a picture?”

 

Keith shook his head, dark hair sliding over the top of the sword hilts branded on his flesh, “go ahead.”

 

There were two short swords with curved blades on his back, the hilts crossing at his spine. A vine laden with some kind of fruit or berry crawled along each of the silver blades, a heavy bough dropping down just below where the hilts crossed. Lance dug his phone out of his pocket and took a few pictures. 

 

 

“Okay, thanks. Might want to put your shirt back on before the locals sneer you to death.”

 

Keith snickered, “you’re not wrong.”

 

Lance looked away as he pulled his shirt back on and slid his arms back into his jacket, pulling his black, fingerless, gloves back last.

 

“Look, Lance, I’m not going to make any commitments, alright? I don’t want you to think I’m going to drop what I’m doing to come running so you guys can chase ghosts of yourselves. I’ll help you when I have time to spare.”

 

It wasn’t as if Lance could argue and, as it was, that was still more than he could have hoped for.

 

“I get it, man, and I appreciate it-”

 

Lance’s voice trailed off as a glint caught his eye.

 

“Are you used to being followed for some reason,” Lance asked quietly, purposefully keeping from turning his head towards the glimmer that kept coming and going just north of them.

 

“What?”

 

Keith went to turn his head and Lance put his hand on top of his, stopping him.

 

“Don’t turn, don’t acknowledge it,” he ordered lowly, facing Keith while cutting his eyes towards the source of the glare, “but somebody is interested in you.”

 

“That son of a bitch,” Keith growled under his breath, “how’d you know?”

 

“I had someone follow me from a contract shoot once. I turned them down and they weren’t happy about it. They started following me home, following me around town. I started to be able to pick them out because if you use an actual camera on an open road like this, especially when it’s bright, you can normally catch a glare that comes in and out constantly in one place. That doesn’t always work but if they’re stupid enough to do it this close then you can normally catch them in the daytime.”

 

Lance pulled his hand away and Keith pursed his lips, staring down at the table, “alright, I appreciate that. I’ll message Shiro later and let him know when I’m free.”

 

Lance, unthinking, reached out to grab lightly at his jacket sleeve, “be careful.”

 

Keith didn’t seem the least bit perturbed. His lips curved softly and his eyes were warm as he looked down at him. It was almost like he was looking at someone else and, when he spoke, his words were layered with affection.

 

“Don’t worry for me, Little Lion.”

 

There was a low richness in his voice that sounded almost alien and yet it was so familiar, so comforting, that Lance was instantly put at ease. The look in his eyes was blinked out quickly and his mouth opened and closed, confusion stamped on his features. He didn’t say another word, clearing his throat and making immediately for his bike. Lance didn’t watch him leave as he was too busy trying to comprehend the unfurled warmth in his chest and why that small utterance eased his mind.

 

He had a feeling that things were going to get very interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be around for a little while (I've had several emergencies happen this week and I'm still extremely raw/stressed) so I'm giving you 2 chapters and I apologize for updating a day later than said on the schedule. I do my best to stick to any date that I give you. I suspect I'll be back around the end of August after my fall semester kicks off. I have one more week of intense summer courses and only a week long break before fall semester begins.
> 
> UPDATE!!!!
> 
> The beautiful artwork was done by my awesome friend Ani (who you may have noticed has done amazing work for Gate Keeper too!!) and you can find that link [HERE!](https://maniacani-arts.tumblr.com/post/176561469203/there-were-two-short-swords-with-curved-blades-on)
> 
> PLEASE go show her some love, I cannot express how amazing she is and how much I adore her. The work she puts into these gorgeous pieces just blows my mind and we are blessed to have them shared with us! Share that shit to the moon and back! 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for sticking around- I hope that you all have a wonderful day. All my love!
> 
> ### ☽ MP ☾


	7. Chapter 7

 

“Let’s see you try to talk shit without a head.”

 

Shiro heard his voice before he even touched the doorknob, snickering to himself as he opened the door to their apartment and let himself in, his tired body barely heeding his commands. He could see him from where he entered into the kitchen, the long kitchen island low enough that he could see to the back of the couch and the back of Lance’s head as he played his video games. On the large flat screen there were vibrant flashes of gunfire and movement as monster and humanoid alike charged the player. There were no sounds beyond Lance’s voice, his headset firmly in place. 

 

After he carefully sat his bag on the counter, Shiro moved around the island to come up behind him. He stood there, waiting until some bright blue beast was bearing down on him before he grabbed his shoulders, laughing at the immediate jump and undignified squeal that followed. His eyes were impossibly large as he turned his head to look at him, chest heaving as he pulled off his headphones and tried to slow his thundering heart.

 

“Scaredy cat,” Shiro taunted as he laughed, moving around the couch to take a seat beside him.

 

“If this couch hadn’t been  _ beyond _ expensive I swear to you I would have pissed on it just now,” Lance narrowed his eyes, hand still firmly planted on his chest, “you could have killed me!”

 

“I know CPR, I could just bring you back.”

 

“You’re an evil, evil, man,” Lance sighed, picking up the discarded controlled from where he’d flung it to exit his game before turning off the television and removing his headset to sit it on the coffee table.

 

“I do alright.”

 

Lance’s expression changed in what seemed like a split second as he turned on the couch, pulling his right leg under him so that he could face him.

 

“Did you get a text today?”

 

“Oh, did you text me? I’m sorry, I was really busy today-”

 

Lance shook his head, “I didn’t text you, I knew you’d be busy. But Keith said he would.”

 

Shiro sighed, trying to find it within himself to put on a reassuring smile.

 

“It might take him a while, just be patient.”

 

They had already spoken about expectations and, though he hadn’t mentioned it aloud, he knew it was a long shot that they would ever hear from Keith voluntarily. Lance didn’t seem down by his advice, however, and Shiro narrowed his eyes a little at the miniscule tilt at the corner of his mouth. Was he missing something?

 

“Check your phone.”

 

Going along with his request, Shiro got up and went into the kitchen to grab his messenger bag and bring it back to the couch with him. He reached into the velcroed pouch on the side and pulled out his phone, surprised to see the yellow indicator flashing. Sure enough, when the screen lit up, his lock screen showed a text from a 628 number not in his contact list.

 

 

> From: (628) 484-8763
> 
>  
> 
> Hey, it’s Keith. 
> 
> I’m free tonight and tomorrow after 8. 
> 
> Let me know.
> 
>  

  
  


Shiro looked up at Lance who was equal parts thrilled and smug.

 

“How did you know he’d text me?”

 

“I went out to lunch with Allura after our shoot today and after she left, I hung around the restaurant for a while. It was that cajun place on third, not far from Aces. Keith drove by on his bike and saw me. He drove off but he came back a second time and then came over to talk to me,” Lance explained, his words tripping on the tail ends of one another as his excitement got the better of him, “and he apologized for not texting. We were right, by the way, he wasn’t planning on texting.”

 

He knew that must have been hard for Lance to hear, especially given how much he’d tried to hide his disappointment after their first meeting had gone south.

 

Lance continued, “he said that it made him feel bad and he didn’t like it so he would text you when he had time and would be willing to help.”

 

Shiro caught the hard look that glittered in Lance’s eyes as his gaze fell to the couch cushion between them, lips pressed together.

 

“Did he say something else? What’s the matter?”

 

“Somebody was following him today.”

 

“What? What are you talking about?”

 

Lance looked back up to him, “do you remember when that guy, Thomas, was following me around for a while?”

 

Just the sound of that name was enough to burn a hole in Shiro’s stomach. Immediately he could picture tied up blonde hair visible above a shuttering camera and his fists clenched and unclenched.

 

“Yeah, that guy I thought I was going to have to drown in the Bay,” he answered gruffly, “I remember him.”

 

“You remember what you told me about the camera glare and how I could spot him if he was following me?”

 

Oh, Shiro remembered. The man hadn’t been the brightest of bulbs and he’d never followed the adage ‘don’t make the same mistake twice.’ For months they’d been tailed by the obsessive suitor, photographed and stalked what seemed like every time that they left the house. Gifts for Lance had been left at their doorstep, on their car, at his shoots. He had gone so far as to follow them to the beach one night, photographing their anniversary together knelt down behind a thatch of trees. Shiro was not, by nature, a violent man. That said, he’d had to spend an extraordinary amount of willpower not to beat him half to death with his camera. 

 

He was thankful for their restraining order.

 

“Yes, I remember.”

 

“Well, while I was talking to Keith I saw something like that. I didn’t give it away immediately but I told Keith he was being followed and he didn’t seem surprised, just angry. I told him to be careful.”

 

“You sure it wasn’t Thomas?”

 

Lance shook his head, a rueful smile on his lips, “Thomas is in prison doing eight years for cocaine, remember?”

 

“Oh yeah, right. Keith can probably handle himself and if he wasn’t surprised then he must have already known somebody has been following him. Maybe we can ask about it tonight.”

 

Lance perked up, “tonight?”

 

Shiro handed him his phone and watched his lover light up like a Christmas tree, all smiles as he handed the phone back.

 

“Is that okay?”

 

“It’s great!”

 

“Then how about a proper welcome home?”

 

Lance laughed in delight and crawled over to fall on top of him, peppering his face with kisses and nuzzling against his cheek, “welcome home!”

 

* * *

  
  


Keith’s phone vibrated just as he was finishing up his last appointment of the day.

 

“Cool down with the treadmill and I’ll see you Monday,” he instructed the older man on the bench as he finished his last set, patting his back, “good job today.”

 

“Thanks Keith,” Jorgen nodded, face red, forehead covered in a sheen of sweat, “let me know when you’re free, my daughter finally broke up with her shithead of a boyfriend and it might do her good to meet a real man.”

 

Keith bit the inside of his cheek against a laugh, “sorry Jorgen, I’m in love with my work. Best of luck to Marcy, though.”

 

Jorgen laughed a hearty laugh that nearly left him winded in the wake of his resistance training, punctuating with a loud cough, “work won’t be there to keep you warm young man. Who’s going to look after you when you’re old and feeble like me?”

 

Around sixty-five, Jorgen was still an intimidating man at five-foot-eleven and damn near one-hundred-eighty pounds. He was one of Keith’s most dedicated clients, always arriving just early of his appointment and never giving less than his absolute best whether it was weight training or aerobics. He couldn’t even begin to imagine him as feeble.

 

“I’m here for a good time, not a long time,” Keith grinned, causing Jorgen to laugh again.

 

“Better make it a damn good time then, son.”

 

He waited until Jorgen had made his way to the treadmills and safely begun his cool-down before he fished his phone out of his pocket. ‘ _ Tonight at eight works for us. Arondale Apartments, number 29,’  _ the text said, leaving him feeling anxious as he looked up at the large clock above the weights and read the time as half past seven. Keith reluctantly made his way to the back where he opened his locker and pulled his bike helmet and wallet out of his duffle bag. 

 

He closed the locker and moved for the door, stomach churning as he thought about meeting with Shiro and Lance after the meeting he’d had with Lance earlier. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get those words out of his head. ‘ _Don’t worry_ for _me, Little Lion_.’ He couldn’t stop the words from coming out and, in that moment, they’d felt so natural. There had been such affection in those words, such a familiar bond that he’d felt. No matter how he mulled it around, he couldn’t make sense of why he’d said that or why it had felt so… right.

 

The air was cool as he ventured out towards where his bike was parked on the street side opposite the gym, ruffling the hem of his t-shirt and sliding across the back of his bared neck. He looked to his left and right, eying the cars parked along the street. Ever since Lance had pointed out his tail, he constantly felt he was being watched.

 

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered as he looked up and down the street once more, “what are you looking for?”

 

He already had the man’s number, he didn’t see what else he would possibly get from following him after he’d already reached out. He reached his bike and pulled on his helmet after doing a cursory google search for the exact area of Shiro’s apartment building, resigning himself to the fact that even if his investigator was watching him, Keith wouldn’t know what to look for to be able to tell. 

 

As the engine roared to life and he pulled away from the curb, his hands switched to autopilot while his mind wandered. What were they going to do when he got there, he wondered as he sped down the darkening streets, how did anyone start trying to figure out brands? The closer he got to the apartment building, the more he wanted to turn around. What had he signed on for?

 

* * *

 

The apartment building he came to was a chic mid-rise in white, silver, and burnished orange, a world away from the small one bedroom rat-trap he stayed in. At once he felt the urge to get back on his bike but he forced himself to walk inside. He found his way through the brightly lit lobby and found the elevator that directed him to the third floor. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of their apartment, knocking on the door with all the inner calm of a herd of wildebeests. 

 

Shiro opened the door with a friendly smile, moving aside to let him in.

 

“Hey, Keith. Come in.”

 

“Hey, thanks.”

 

Immediately he was hit by the smell of something cooking, something laden with garlic and lime and so aromatic that his mouth began to water. He caught a flash of color from his right and turned to see Lance, clad in a bright blue and yellow paisley apron, at the stove waving.

 

“Hey!”

 

“Hey,” Keith greeted awkwardly, “it smells great in here.”

 

“Lance cooks when he’s nervous,” Shiro informed him at a stage whisper, causing Lance to glare at him over his shoulder.

 

“I cook for guests,” he lifted his chin with a ‘hmmph,’ “if I didn’t, my mother would astral project here from Miami and whoop my ass.”

 

“You didn’t need to do that, but I appreciate it.”

 

“Well,” Shiro drawled as he gestured towards the kitchen table and had a seat at the end where a laptop sat closed, “it sounded like you would be heading here from work or something so we didn’t think you’d have eaten.”

 

Shiro’s smile was inviting, friendly and open, as he spoke, disarming Keith almost completely as he sat his helmet in the unoccupied chair beside the one he chose. Their home was warm and bright, touches of their life together hanging on the walls and translating into the thoughtful patterns and little accents that decorated what he could see of it. The atmosphere, coupled with the kind smiles the pair of them aimed his way, had his tension easing out little by little. 

 

“You aren’t allergic to anything are you,” Lance asked as he stirred the contents of the pan he was watching, “I should have asked beforehand.”

 

“No, I eat just about anything.”

 

Lance snickered, “I love cooking for human garbage disposals. Drink preference?”

 

“Uh, water’s fine, thanks.”

 

“We don’t bite, you know.”

 

Keith turned back to Shiro who was watching him in amusement, blue-grey eyes crinkling in amusement. It was a good look for him, the way his mouth was tilted just so, the way his hair looked a little wavy, maybe from sweating earlier in the day. There was a sudden dryness to Keith’s mouth.

 

“It’s just a weird situation,” Keith muttered defensively, shrugging a shoulder.

 

“Trust me, I know,” Shiro agreed, “but you don’t need to be on edge here. We’re all just working towards a goal, no more, no less.”

 

“I know. I wouldn’t have shown up if I didn’t think it was good idea.”

 

“What changed your mind?”

 

“Like I told Lance, something about ghosting you just didn’t sit right. I guess I’m a little interested in seeing what happens in the end, too, if I’m honest.”

 

It was the first time that he’d said it aloud but it was the truth; maybe who he had been would give him insight into who he was or who he would be.

 

Shiro flashed him a devastatingly handsome smile, forcing his heart into overdrive, beating like a pair of hummingbird wings, “I’m glad to hear that, really.”

 

“Uh huh,” was all he could say.

 

“Food is done,” Lance announced, waiting until Shiro moved his laptop to the empty place beside Keith before he sat down a large plate full of thin, crisp, beef strips.

 

Following the beef came rice, beans, several cut limes, three plates, and their drinks. 

 

“Thanks,” Shiro said, kissing Lance’s cheek after he took his place beside him.

 

“Yeah, thanks,” Keith added.

 

“No problem, enjoy.”

 

They served themselves and the moment that Keith bit into the garlic-lime beef he could have moaned, the flavor and texture mingling together in perfect harmony on his tongue. His taste buds gave a standing ovation.

 

“This is awesome,” he praised Lance, gesturing at the beef with his fork, “seriously awesome.”

 

The cutest tinge darkened the tops of his host’s cheeks at the compliment and he beamed a smile that could have lit the entire city, “I’m glad you like it.”

 

He was about to dig back into his food when he noticed that Shiro’s fork was paused, poised just above his plate, completely still. When he looked up to Shiro’s face, he saw that he was staring at him, watching him painfully closely.

 

“Shiro?”

 

“We’ve… done this before.”

 

“What?”

 

“I just got the strangest feeling of deja vu,” he said slowly, looking back and forth between the two of them, putting down his fork, “I could just about see it. Keith was sitting right there in front of me and Lance, you were to my right. It felt like I was somewhere else just now.”

 

Keith followed suit and put down his fork, his stomach beginning to swirl as he thought about how he’d first seen them at Aces and how Shiro had described how he’d felt.

 

“Is that common,” he asked quietly, looking at Shiro and Lance, “I mean, is that something that happens after you meet whoever your soulmates are?”

 

“I’m not sure,” Shiro mused, “but we can look that up. Have you had anything like that happen?”

 

Keith felt his cheeks begin to burn, “uh, yeah; twice actually.”

 

“Can you tell us about it?”

 

He would’ve rather swallowed an icepick. 

 

“You remember when we met at Aces and I was a little shaky coming off of my bike?”

 

“Yeah, we thought you were going to fall out,” Shiro chuckled.

 

“Well, when I saw the two of you there was this, like, fog. It was like it was covering my eyes and when I tried to look through it, I saw the two of you standing there but it was different, it was like we weren’t at Aces anymore. You two weren’t wearing shirts but you were still looking at me like you were nervous or something. It went away pretty quick and then I got a killer headache.”

 

Shiro nodded as he spoke, digesting his words, “and the second?”

 

“Was it this afternoon,” Lance asked, grabbing his attention.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Shiro looked from one to the other, “did something happen?”

 

“Remember that I told you Keith was being followed? I told him to be careful as he was going to leave and he said, ‘don’t worry for me, Little Lion.’”

 

“I don’t know why I said that,” Keith sighed, massaging at his temple, “but at the time it made all the sense in the world. I couldn’t stop myself from saying it and it was like I was feeling somebody else’s emotions. What about you, Lance? Have you felt anything weird?”

 

Lance pursed his lips at the two of them looked to him, “no, I mean, I don't think so. It’s one of those things that I’d definitely remember if it happened, right?”

 

Shiro and Keith both answered, “yes.”

 

“Then no, nothing for me yet. All I know is that when he said that to me, I instantly felt… safe? No, not safe… At ease, maybe. It was familiar. Other than that, I haven’t had my own whole moment.”

 

“Hey,” Keith called to him when he frowned, “don’t be upset about that. I figure Shiro’s with me when I say that it’s not a great feeling.”

 

Shiro nodded, reaching over to slide his arm along the back of Lance’s chair and rub his shoulder, “you can’t stop it and it feels strange, like someone else is piloting your body. Plus, it comes with a free gift.”

 

“Headache,” Keith guessed with a sympathetic smile.

 

“Like a jackhammer behind my eye sockets,” Shiro affirmed, his right eye squinting nearly closed.

 

“Yeah I’m sure it’s no walk in the park but it’s still something I’d like to experience,” Lance shrugged, trying not to look disappointed despite the fact that his expressive eyes gave everything away, “but anyway, I have an idea of what we should do first. Allura gave me the idea when we went out this afternoon.”

 

Keith ventured another bite of his food after his stomach calmed, thankful for the attention being on Lance so that he didn’t have to feel awkward about the way he was practically inhaling his meal.

 

“She mentioned that we could probably look up that book from that Japanese couple, or one of the articles from their interviews. I think they mentioned how they tried to start working on their brands.”

 

“That’s a pretty good idea, it might give us a starting point,” Keith commented after cleaning his plate, sighing in contentment. 

 

Lance was quiet as he reached for the laptop, his fingers flying over the keys, eyes quickly scanning the pages as he searched for information. Shiro, after his headache appeared to have eased, leaned over to read over his shoulder. Keith was once again struck by how they looked together and the easy, effortless, way that they communicated strength to one another wordlessly. Shiro’s hand was still firmly on Lance’s shoulder, fingers rubbing against the sleeve of his t-shirt under the hideous apron he’d forgotten to take off. Lance would glance over at Shiro every now and then as he was reading, a soft curl to his lips. A part of Keith, small and quiet, hidden amidst the rest of the feelings he dared not voice, wondered what it would be like to be a part of something so openly affectionate and caring. 

 

“Okay, so,” Lance said after several minutes of scanning articles, “apparently they spent some time trying to get to know each other first. The guy who wrote this, Kuramochi, said that they wanted to see if they could maybe attribute their tattoos to interests, hobbies, or something that came up frequently in their lives. He said, ‘finding out who Eijun  _ was _ , where his heart lay, was a large part of finding out who he had  _ been _ .’”

 

There was silence around the table for a minute before Lance huffed, pointing a finger at his throat, “I don't shop collars enough for that to be relevant to this thing, I just want that on the record.”

 

Keith snorted before he could stop himself, but Shiro and Lance only grinned. He colored under their watch, coughing. 

 

“So,” Shiro gave him a respite and spoke, “what does that mean, then? We’re just supposed to try to get to know each other before we go straight into trying to decipher the actual brands?”

 

“I doubt it works one way for everybody,” Keith shrugged, “but if that’s what you think is best then we can do it like that.”

 

“Then, for today, let’s just focus on trying to make a plan. We shouldn’t try to do too much at once on a first meeting.”

 

Keith could see that they were afraid of scaring him, as though he were a frightened rabbit ready to bolt at the first sight of an open door.

 

“I’m not going to ghost you again.”

 

Shiro and Lance both stared at him, surprised by the open statement. 

 

“I told you I’d help you on my free time and I meant it. You can stop trying to cater to me.”

 

Lance looked away from him sheepishly while Shiro just seemed relieved by his words, broad shoulders resting. 

 

“We appreciate that, Keith. I do think we should keep from overdoing it, though. If we take on too much at once then it’ll feel like a bigger chore than it should. If we’re planning to see this thing through, we need to be able to manage it as best we can.”

 

“Alright, then; I can get behind that.”

 

“Do you have early days, Keith?”

 

He nodded at Lance, “yeah, they start around six.”

 

“Okay, so you shouldn’t stay much longer. How about you text Shiro when you’re free next, maybe on a weekend or a weekday where you have more time. I think our first step should be trying to get to know each other and see if we can replicate those guys’ luck. Maybe we’ll think of something that might be helpful.”

 

The butterflies-turned-wolverines returned at the thought of spending more time with them but, at the same time, there was an odd sort of pleasure that came with that thought. Spending time with them, though short, hadn’t been as terrible as he’d feared… In fact, being around them left him very at ease. He wasn’t sure when it had happened but he’d gone from feeling anxious and tense to calm and comfortable. 

 

“Yeah,” he said, “I can do that. I think I have Sunday free but I’ll have to double check.”

 

“Just let us know,” Shiro smiled at him, revving up the wolverines, “we can make time.”

 

Beyond Katie, he’d never really had anyone open to make time for him. The idea of two people, virtual strangers, opening their home, their lives, to him so easily left him humbled. 

 

“Sure,” was all Keith could say in response.

 

“You should go ahead and get home, Keith,” Shiro said as he stood, stretching his large frame, “we shouldn’t keep you if you start your day so early.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right; I should be getting back.”

 

“Do you want some food,” Lance asked, eyeing the practically spotless plate, “there’s plenty left.”

 

His taste buds practically held his tongue at gunpoint when he tried to say, ‘no thank you.’

 

“Yeah, if you’re sure. It was great.”

 

“My mom would be happy to hear that; it’s her recipe.”

 

While Lance busied himself closing the laptop and moving into the kitchen to rummage for tupperware, Shiro walked him to the door. 

 

“Hey,” his voice was low, quiet enough that Lance couldn’t hear him while he rattled around past the various metal mixing bowls in the cabinets, “thanks for coming. It meant a lot to both of us.”

 

“No problem. It was nice.”

 

“Do me a favor?”

 

“Sure, what’s up?”

 

The blue-grey of Shiro’s eyes flattened a little, “if, at any time, you decide you’re done with this, text me. I’m not going to judge you for bailing. I just don’t want him to get his hopes up.”

 

Keith looked back to the kitchen where Lance was busy packing away the food, “it really does mean a lot to him, huh?”

 

“More than you know.”

 

He looked back to Shiro, “you’re a good guy, you know.”

 

“You do what you can for the people you love,” was all he said.

 

Keith couldn’t help but admire him while he envied Lance, envied the both of them. 

 

“If it ever comes to that,” he promised, “I will text you. I don't think it will though, something tells me it wouldn’t be that easy to leave after this.”

 

“I’m glad to hear that.”

 

Lance finished and brought him a container filled with leftovers, “here you go. Be careful and thanks for coming over.”

 

Keith took the container and was struck, once more, by the sheer kindness they showed to him when he’d told them honestly he’d never intended to meet them again. 

 

“Yeah, no problem. I’ll text you guys.”

 

“Thanks,” Shiro smiled as Lance melted against his side, “safe trip.”

  
As Keith waved his goodbye and made his way through the building, he thought back to how sure he’d been that he wouldn’t be interested in meeting with the pair of them. One evening, short though it had been, had given him a different perspective. Having people like them- no,  _ having them _ , in his life might make it a little brighter. Maneuvering leftovers in one hand and his helmet in the other, he made up his mind on the spot, on the curb outside of their apartment, that he was going to try to see this thing through.


	8. Chapter 8

 

_ The sounds from the street dulled as he ventured further and further away from the walls of the city, voices and laughter lost to his ears as he searched. The strapping of his sandals wore almost painfully against his feet as he quickened his pace, cutting through thatches of trees and thick shrubbery. Sharp thorns brushed against his arms and legs, biting through the wool of his tunic and into the skin beneath. He couldn’t afford to care, not right now. There was a flash of white against a thick bramble, just enough to have him dashing forward with such force that he almost couldn’t stop when he came to the river’s edge.  _

 

_ His heart beat harshly in his ears, the pounding drowning out the gurgle of the water and the cry of several startled songbirds. His lover was knelt on the riverbank, thick white bangs falling over his face, mud slathered over his pale ivory tunic as he cupped his hand and brought the water to his arm, scrubbing his short fingernails over the stubborn stains. The water before him ran red as he cleansed the sin from his flesh. _

 

_ Keith felt his breath catch at the sight, his vision hazy behind a sheen of welling tears as his chest grew heavy. His lover lifted his head, catching his visage. The small smile on his lips did little to hide the fatigue, the burden, on his soul. Keith moved forward, his feet faltering when he was close enough to touch, falling against him as the tears fell over his cheeks. His fingers clutched at the muddied tunic, holding to him as he whispered apologies between his sobs. Arms came tightly around him, pressing him to his lover’s chest. _

 

_ “Why,” he asked against his skin, his voice hoarse and broken, “why?” _

 

_ “I would move the very heavens themselves for someone who makes our hearts beat as you do.” _

  
  


* * *

  
  


Keith bolted upright, blankets puddling around his hips as he took several deep breaths, his chest feeling as though it were being constricted. An ache throbbed behind his eyes but it wasn’t the headache that had tears falling down his cheeks, falling to splash onto his bared chest. He could hear that voice echoing in his ears, the words still close enough to grasp. 

 

_ ‘I would move the very heavens themselves for someone who makes our hearts beat as you do.’ _

 

Those words had been so soft yet spoken with such conviction that it had left him unable to speak. He couldn’t say why, he couldn’t make sense of it, but he knew without a shadow of a doubt that the blood on Shiro’s skin had been there because of him. Those words drifted through his mind again as he sat alone in the waning darkness and yet all he could hear was what Shiro had said to him when last they’d met:

 

_ ‘You do what you can for the people you love.’ _

 

Keith wrapped his arms around himself, waiting for the unbidden feelings to ebb away, leaving him with a dark, empty, place when they finally did. He couldn’t remember ever feeling anything so painfully, so powerfully, as the guilt he’d felt upon waking. It had bitten at his flesh, a fire building in the cavity of his chest, eating away at him and burning all it touched.

 

“It was just a dream,” he told himself despite the smolder within him, the embers of that fire left dormant yet breathing. 

 

Keith knew it was a lie. It wasn’t something he could explain to someone but he knew, in the core of his being, that what he’d experienced hadn’t been a dream; it had been too real, too charged. Though he’d had a moment before, and been there when Shiro had one of his own, it still hadn’t felt entirely real to him. That dream, that memory, had changed his perception. His soul, everything he was, whispered the truth of it to him. They truly were his soulmates. 

 

As the newborn rays of a rising sun slid through the gaps in his blinds and fled along the floor, Keith propped himself up against a mass of pillows, closed his eyes, and wondered just what kind of past he’d had. He thought about the look that he’d seen in Shiro’s eyes the moment he’d looked up to find him there and the way he’d held him so tightly that he’d barely been able to draw breath. There had been safety in his arms, comfort and trust despite whatever hardship and strife Keith had caused him.

 

Had he ever seen that look in another person’s eyes when they looked at him? The answer was a loud, resounding, no. That, he suspected, was why it must hit him so hard. He’d spent so much of his life after being abandoned swearing that he didn’t need companionship, he didn’t need someone waiting at home for him, he didn’t need romantic love. In truth, it had just felt so far away from his grasp that he was afraid, terrified, to even admit wanting it. Seeing Shiro look at him like that, feeling his heartbeat next to his own as he held him, made him want it so badly that he ached… And that frightened him.

 

What did he want from them, he wondered, opening his eyes to stare at the textured ceiling in the dim lighting. He didn’t know how to be with one person, let alone two. He’d had lovers in the past but none of his relationships has lasted more than six months, each one discouraged and put off by the distance he kept. He used sex as a means to a physical end and had no real experience when it came to more than a fleeting fancy. 

 

He sighed again, though he had to smile wryly at himself for his train of thought. His soulmates were happy together and, as Lance had said up front, they were fine in the romance department. On some level, as soulmates, he should just be happy for them and try to find his own happiness where he could. Besides, he thought, it wasn’t as though they were even close enough for him to think such lunacy. They were kind but they were still just strangers, brief acquaintances. 

 

A loud buzzing caught his attention and he turned to grab his cell phone off of the nightstand. As though they’d read his mind, he saw the unread text message under Shiro’s name. He’d texted them before he’d gone to sleep, letting them know that he had the day off and that he was free if they wanted to work on the brands. 

 

> **From: Shiro**
> 
> Feel free to come over any time. 
> 
> Lance will be home all day and I’ll be back by 5.
> 
>  

 

 

The message had been timestamped as right before he’d gone to bed but the reception in his apartment was trash. The thought of seeing him after his flashback, or memory, or whatever the hell it was, left him anxious. After checking the time he forced himself out of bed, pulled on a pair of black joggers and a grey muscle shirt, grabbed his wallet from the nightstand, and made for the front door. He needed to get his mind off of what he’d experienced and an early morning jog sounded like a perfect distraction. 

 

Keith had just gotten down to the landing when his eye caught a brief glimmer off to his left, across the street and down near a line of parked cars. Lance’s warning popped into his head and Keith made a point to slowly bend to tighten the laces on his running shoes, his head tilted just enough to make out another series of glimmers emanating from the same direction. Standing, he immediately turned towards the source of the light and crossed the street at a jog, aiming for the man he knew would be standing behind the cars.

 

The man didn’t bother hiding his activities as Keith moved in on him, lowering his camera slowly and then placing it in the front seat of the black Sentra he was leaned against through the open window. He tugged the brim of his Buffalo Bills baseball cap up to bare more of his face, short tendrils of dark red hair curling around the edge. He was about two weeks without a shave and his generic white t-shirt and jeans certainly didn’t stand out. Below the brim of his hat, he watched Keith with amused green eyes and a lazy smile.

 

“Mr. Kogane,” he greeted without a hitch, sticking out a hand that Keith ignored.

 

“Why are you still taking photos?”

 

The man didn’t seem the least bit concerned with his dismissal, his hand falling away.

 

“Just making sure you were hanging around. It’s been a while and you haven’t returned my calls.”

 

Keith had followed Katie’s advice and trashed the stranger’s number and voicemails. He’d made up his mind. 

 

“Regular people would take that as a hint. I don’t want anything to do with you or your ‘client’ so you can hit the bricks. Don’t make me call the police when we both know you should have quit tailing me when you contacted me and outed yourself.”

 

There was a quick flash of something in the man’s eyes but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. His lazy smiled widened, gaining a sharp edge.

 

“You seem to think you know the score.”

 

“I do,” Keith lifted his chin, “beat it.”

 

“You really don’t want to know about your mom?”

 

There was a split second where Keith’s determination wavered and several small, but insistent, ‘what if’s burrowed into his mind. Clenching his jaw, he squashed them. 

 

“My mother is dead. Get lost.”

 

It felt like a doorway closed as he turned his back on the man, facing the sun of a new day with one less thing on his shoulders.

 

* * *

 

When a knock sounded on the front door, Lance was sitting on his bed, tongue held firmly between his teeth, as he tried to paint his toenails without subsequently painting his entire foot. He took a second to mentally weigh the pros and cons of shuffling awkwardly to the door in time to open it before whoever was on the other side left.

 

“Come in,” he yelled, hoping both that his voice carried and that it was just Keith and not a very polite serial killer.

 

“Uh, hey, it’s Keith. You really think it’s a good idea to keep your door unlocked?”

 

Lance snickered at the incredulous tone of Keith’s voice as he shut the door behind him, a sharp metallic ‘shing’ following as he promptly locked the door behind him.

 

“No and Takashi would probably murder me if he knew I didn’t lock it when he left,” he answered loudly, “I get hell for it all the time.”

 

“You should, that’s dangerous.”

 

“Thanks mom, I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

“Uh, where are you?”

 

“Just make yourself at home, I’ll be out in a sec. I’m putting a clear coat on my nails.”

 

“...You couldn’t open the door because you’re painting your fingernails?”

 

“Well, toenails but yes. Don’t you even make that face at me, I keep my skin, hair, and nails very well taken care of.”

 

“How do you know what face I’m making when you can’t see me?”

 

“I don’t know, I just do. You’re doing that ‘raised eyebrow and judgy half smirk’ thing.”

 

Lance grinned at the silence. He knew he was right though he couldn’t exactly rationalize how when he’d only met him a handful of times.

 

“It’s okay that I’m early, isn’t it?”

 

“How can you be early when we didn’t say a time? Takashi probably just told you to come over whenever, right?”

 

“Yeah, but-”

 

“Then you’re right on time,” Lance shrugged as he finished, leaning back to appreciate the shine on his nails and a job well done, “you’re welcome here whenever.”

 

“You guys are too trusting of strangers.”

 

“You won’t be a stranger after tonight and, besides, it would be really cruel if the universe made me soulmates with a murderer, don't you think?”

 

“That’s poor rationalization, no wonder Shiro has to berate you to lock your door.”

 

“Hey, don’t start siding with him already. I don't need two of you.”

 

Lance gingerly turned and let his legs fall from the bed, feeling a strange warmth at the easy conversation and how natural it felt. Keith was sitting on the end of the couch, busy putting his long hair up into a ponytail when Lance padded out from the bedroom. He looked… right, sitting there on his couch, the tension that he’d carried in their previous meetings nowhere to be found.

 

“Hey,” Lance greeted with a soft smile, “can I get you anything?”

 

“Hey, no I’m fine. I brought a case of beer; it’s on the kitchen table.”

 

“That was a good choice. Takashi should be bringing a case of his own and some wine when he gets back. How is somebody supposed to spill their life’s story without alcohol?”

 

“Isn’t beer bad for your skin?”

 

“I don’t drink beer, I drink wine. I could go into the reasons why a few glasses won’t kill my career but I’d sound like an alcoholic and I’ll wait until story time to give you a shitty impression of myself.”

 

Keith’s laugh made his apartment seem a little brighter. 

 

“Fair enough. Oh, I also brought back your bowl. I left it by the sink.”

 

Lance took a seat at the opposite end of the couch.

 

“Thanks, I’m glad you liked the food. He was right, I have a tendency to cook when I’m nervous.”

 

“And here I thought I was special,” Keith joked, earning a chuckle from Lance.

 

“Well, you are. I’m a people person and it’s not easy to make me that nervous.”

 

“Why do I make you nervous?”

 

“Beyond the whole ‘soulmate’ thing, I’m not totally sure. It’s not a bad nervous, I’m not scared of you or anything, it’s just that,” Lance tried to articulate his feelings but he couldn’t find the right words, “I don't know, I guess I just want you to feel comfortable.”

 

_ I want you to like us _ . He knew better than to say it but he knew that was it. It bothered him that it was the truth. Lance wanted Keith to like them and it mattered to him that he did. 

 

“I’m comfortable, Lance. This situation just has a way of making everybody feel on edge, I would guess.”

 

“Yeah, I don't feel nervous so much anymore,” Lance admitted, feeling his chest positively glow when his words earned a smile from Keith, “I sort of feel like I know you already.”

 

“I get what you mean. We probably just got the awkward out early.”

 

“Yeah, you say that now, but just wait until we have to get personal. I feel like the awkward is going to come back reaaaaaaaaal quick.”

 

“Luckily, we’ll have beer for that.”

 

Before Lance could even open his mouth, the door handle to the front door jiggled just before a familiar series of knocks sounded against the wood.

 

“Speaking of beer, our second delivery is here.”

 

Lance winked and then made for the door, unlocking the sliding lock before opening the door wide to let Shiro inside. His lover’s eyebrows rose so high that they were practically melting into his hairline.

 

“You actually locked the door? Is it a special occasion or something?”

 

Keith coughed from the couch and Lance sighed, “Keith locked it. I forgot.”

 

“Thank you for looking after my idiot boyfriend,” Shiro called to Keith who raised a hand in acknowledgment, “he’s going to get murdered one day.”

 

“That’s what I told him,” Keith commented.

 

“At least someone here has sense,” Shiro rolled his eyes, leaning to press a quick kiss to Lance’s waiting lips before he passed into the kitchen to sit the bottle of red wine and case of beer next to the one Keith had left on the table.

 

“I’m feeling so attacked right now.”

 

“Take your wine and go be dramatic on the couch.”

 

“ _ So attacked _ .”

 

Shiro just smiled good-naturedly as he handed him the wine after retrieving a wine opener and glass for him from the cabinet beside an almost empty bag of chocolate, “can I get you a drink, Keith?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Lance waited for Shiro to pull out a few bottles before the pair of them moved into the living room, Lance taking his place at the end of the couch while Shiro sat in the middle between him and Keith, giving Keith space by sitting closer to Lance.

 

“Okay,” Lance reached for the remote on the coffee table, “I expect this to be awkward as shit so if you guys want to have a few beers first, I’m going to turn on the ball game. You guys care?”

 

Keith shook his head, “nope. Who’s playing?”

 

“Giants and the Rockies,” Shiro supplied, cracking open his beer, “should be in the second inning. I caught a little bit of the first when I was getting the beer.”

 

“I didn’t take you two for the sports types.”

 

“Just because I paint my nails and make a living looking like a dream doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate baseball.”

 

“Wow,” Keith deadpanned, “and so modest.”

 

“Don’t mind him, he’s dramatic to a fault,” Shiro sighed even as he rubbed a hand down his lover’s arm, “he’s actually pretty self conscious for someone who just said they look like a ‘dream’ out loud without a visible ounce of shame.”

 

Lance nudged Shiro in the ribs with his elbow, “stop giving away my secrets.”

 

Shiro grimaced but gave him a squeeze, kissing his temple, “stop forgetting to lock the damn door.”

 

He rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless. Wiggling free of his lover’s hold, Lance uncorked his wine to let it breathe, angling his body against Shiro as he leaned back on the couch. He knew that the rest of the evening was uncharted territory but for now, at least, they could take a moment to relax together before the atmosphere, and possibly their perceptions, changed.


	9. Chapter 9

 

By the time that the top of the fourth inning had rolled around, Keith was on his second beer and the Giants were up by four. He’d appreciated Lance’s suggestion that they watch the game, a sense of familiarity and comfort permeating the space as they debated pitchers and unanimously agreed that the batting lineups didn’t match the players’ skills. He felt at home there, which was a strange feeling for someone who couldn’t remember what home felt like. Stranger yet was how he could possibly feel at ease with Shiro sitting to his left after the way he’d woken up.

 

As Lance finished his glass of wine, Shiro reached for the remote and muted the game.

 

“Okay, so,” Keith spoke after sitting his beer down on the table, “how are we going to start this?”

 

“How about I start? I can just volunteer information and if you have anything you want to know then you can just ask.”

 

Lance leaned forward, looking past Shiro’s broad chest to where Keith sat. Not for the first time since arriving, Keith couldn’t help but admire the softness that offset his angular features. His eyes, however, were the biggest draw. Expressive, they contained an infinite cosmos, bright and ever-changing. Truly, he was beautiful. The more time that he spent with him, the louder and more brilliant that fact became. 

 

Shiro, on the other hand, held a different sort of draw. He was classically handsome, even with the faint scar that ran horizontally across the bridge of his nose and the unusual white forelock that he left loose. There was a kindness in his smile that set Keith’s heart to sputtering. Together, they might have been the most attractive, most stirring, people he’d ever met.

 

“Okay, that sounds good.”

 

Lance grinned and cleared his throat, “lets see… My full name is Lance McClain, I’m twenty four, and I grew up in southern Miami. I have a younger sister, an older sister, and an older brother who are absolute chaos in the same room. I went the University of Southern Florida and got my Bachelors focusing on theater arts. Before you ask, I had no idea what I wanted to do but when people have called you dramatic since you could talk, you just kinda go with it. I did little acting gigs for local commercials but it wasn’t what I wanted to do.”

 

Keith had no trouble believing that Lance had always been dramatic.

 

“How’d you wind up in California?”

 

“A friend I’d met online told me about a studio she modeled with and how she could probably get me in if I was willing to make the trip out. She knew I was in a bad place mentally, I felt like I was in a rut. I met with them a few times and they were interested so I moved out on a whim.”

 

“You just moved across the country on a whim? That sounds crazy.”

 

“Sometimes you just know your life needs a change,” Lance shrugged, “it was exactly what I needed”

 

“Okay, well wow did you and Shiro meet?”

 

Lance wiggled his eyebrows and slid Shiro a grin, the smile only widening as Shiro coughed, his cheeks warming with color. 

 

“We met when I was sixteen. I was doing yoga out on the sand at Crandon Park back when I was still in Miami and some hunky guy was out there sketching. He kept looking at me so I was nosy and walked over to ask what he was drawing. I looked pretty good for a sketch. He apologized for being creepy and asked if it was okay if he drew me. I was flattered and he was cute so I told him he could if he bought me a drink afterwards.”

 

“Hey, I wasn’t trying to be creepy,” Shiro protested, “I was just out there trying to sketch the scenery and then you come out there doing backbends in the worlds smallest shorts. I was nineteen with a short attention span.”

 

Keith couldn’t help but picture Lance in short shorts, his body forming an elegant arch before the backdrop of crystal blue waters, fingers falling through the sands as his hair fell to tickle the grains. He didn’t blame Shiro  _ in the slightest _ .

 

“You guys have been together all this time?”

 

“Yep! He dropped everything and came out here with me when Allura got me that job. We’ve been together for eight years.”

 

There was clear adoration in Shiro’s eyes as he looked down at Lance who promptly snuggled close to his side and Keith yearned for that. More than that, however, he yearned for those looks, that adoration and affection, to include him. Immediately he looked away from them, ashamed of himself and his train of thought. What was wrong with him? Where was this need coming from and how was he supposed to make it stop?

 

“I’ll go if you don't have any other questions for Lance,” Shiro offered, continuing when Keith gestured for him to go on, “let’s see… You already know my name. I’m twenty seven, born in Seattle but moved to Florida when I was ten. I’m an only child, both parents passed away the year before I graduated high school. I have a bachelors in fine art from the University of Miami. I work with the Upman Branch exhibition hall as an assistant manager. I put together exhibits and gallery shows for artists and set the hall for weddings and musicians, take care of press releases, and put on all the final touches before the shows. In my own time I work on my own paintings.”

 

“So you’re an artist who helps other artists and bridezillas, basically?”

 

Shiro laughed, “basically.”

 

“Do you just paint?”

 

“Mostly, yes. I can go digital but it’s more of a disconnect for me. I used to sculpt before I got into painting.”

 

“Oh, wow. I’ve never met a sculptor before.”

 

“I wouldn’t say I’m a sculptor, I haven’t sculpted in years; not since I left Miami.”

 

Keith wrestled with himself for several seconds before he finally asked, “can I ask how you wound up with that prosthetic?”

 

Shiro didn’t seem bothered, his gaze falling to the metal of his right hand. He let the arm he had behind Lance rise back over so that he could push the loose sleeve of his shirt up far enough to reveal the metal of the prosthetic that stretched all the way up to the middle of his upper arm.

 

“Lost my hand up to almost the middle of my forearm in the car accident that killed my parents.”

 

“Shit,” Keith muttered, “I’m sorry-”

 

“It’s been a long time,” Shiro shook his head, smiling reassuringly, “I’ve come to terms with it. You’re fine.”

 

“Does that change how you paint?”

 

“It did once. It’s outfitted with state of the art neural sensors and transmitters that help me work it just like I would my other hand. While I can’t feel through it, I can sense pressure. Aside from the lack of feeling, it’s just like my other hand.”

 

“That’s awesome,” Keith mused honestly, “thank you for sharing that.”

 

“It’s nothing. So, how about you, Keith?”

 

He gulped and reached for his beer, taking a deep pull of it before he began.

 

“Okay, so, full name is Keith Kogane. I’m twenty six, only child, born in Jersey. Foster care at twelve and aged out of the system. I have a degree in kinesiology from Oregon State and I work as a personal trainer down at Trinity Gym.”

 

“What do you do when you aren’t working,” Shiro asked.

 

“Take a ride on my bike mostly, though occasionally I take local mixed martial arts bouts as an unaffiliated fighter. It keeps my routine from being too boring, but it's not something I do seriously or often. Between that and my job, I just sleep and eat.”

 

“You mean I pulled you out of the way when you could have squashed that dude at the bar like a bug?”

 

Keith had to laugh at Lance’s mixture of shock and surprise.

 

“Yeah, that’s why Katie didn’t bother helping. I could have handled it. I appreciated your concern, though; it was very sweet.”

 

“Ugh. Sounds like your life is all work and no play.”

 

Keith’s smile tilted deviously, “or my play is just rougher than yours.”

 

Shiro cleared his throat, “alright, now that we’re more familiar with each other, maybe that’ll help us get into these brands. We should probably identify them as best we can.”

 

Keith watched as Shiro began unbuttoning his shirt, curious about the brand he’d completed yet hadn’t seen. He wouldn’t admit, however, that mostly he just wanted to see the rest of the broad torso that went with it. Shiro unbuttoned the entirety of the shirt, letting the black fabric fall away to reveal his toned abdomen and broad chest. 

 

Lance scooted to the edge of the couch and pulled his navy sweater over his head, revealing the rest of his brand as he turned to lay his top on the arm of the couch. Keith joined them and pulled the grey t-shirt over his head and laid it over the back of the couch.

 

“Really glad we had those beers,” Shiro commented as both he and Keith reached for the ones they had waiting on the coffee table, “because this is the weird part.”

 

“Seconded,” Keith raised his beer before taking another long gulp.

 

“Okay so we need to look for parts of them that we can look up,” Lance began.

 

“Can I see your back, Lance,” Keith asked, “I’ve seen the collar but not the rest of it.”

 

“Oh, sure.”

 

Lance got up and walked around to stand in front of Keith, turning his back to him. It was elegant and beautiful, an intricate line down his spine that branched low and tapered at each narrow hip. The outer border was familiar to him, the black wave patterns over the cream background ringing a distant bell in the back of his mind. It was the inner part that was the most beautiful, however, and it stood out beautifully against the bronze of his skin. Delicate winding cream vines wove up his spine through a sea of soft blue, dainty leaves dotted here and there. Throughout it all were thin black lines that thickened in places, giving the illusion of a mosaic as it mimicked space between the individual tiles it made. 

 

“How weird that it’s chipped off and broken right there,” Keith muttered to himself as he noticed the chunk that seemed to be missing and the fragments just to the inside of the empty space.

 

“I know, right? This thing is impossible to look up,” Lance huffed, moving back to his side of the couch, “yours and Takashi’s will probably be easier.”

 

“Yours kinda reminds me of an old painting border,” Keith mentioned, earning an enthusiastic nod from Shiro.

 

“Yeah, I can definitely see that.”

 

“Have you figured out any of what’s in yours, Shiro?”

 

Shiro shook his head, looking down at the laurel-esque wreath on his chest. Keith scooted a little closer so that he could see better, face heating slightly at the sheer proximity. Surrounding the greyscale bench was a wreath, open like a wreath of laurels. Three kinds of flowers were visible but Keith could only immediately identify one.

 

“Well, that one,” he pointed to the slightly rumpled white flower and its thorn studded stalk, “is a blackberry flower.”

 

Shiro and Lance both looked at the brand, “how’d you know that?”

 

“I spent a lot of time in Oregon,” Keith shrugged, “in the sticks you’re outnumbered by blackberries and bugs.”

 

Shiro reached down to pull his phone out of his pocket, “okay so that’s good to know. Next we’ll need to figure out the red and blue-ish ones.”

 

Lance snickered, “are we going to end up fourteen pages deep in tumblr looking up flower meanings?”

 

“We’d still have to know what they were first.”

 

Lance pouted when Shiro didn’t rise to his bait but he grabbed his phone from the side table and moved in to squint at the flowers of Shiro’s brand.

 

“I’m just going to type in ‘red flower’ and see how far I get.”

 

Keith was on his fourth beer when Shiro and Lance finally made progress.

 

“I found the red one,” Lance announced, rubbing his eyes and pulling the screen away from his face, “it’s red valerian. It’s Mediterranean and the leaves are apparently edible if you’re into random greens in your salad.”

 

“The other one is winged purple Larkspur,” Shiro followed, “also Mediterranean. Keith, would you mind turning so I can look at yours?”

 

Keith tilted up his bottle, draining the last of the beer before sitting the empty bottle onto the table and turning in his seat to bare his back to Shiro. The couch cushions dipped as he slid his large frame closer and Keith’s heartbeat sped up, images from his memory appearing unbidden before his mind’s eye. 

 

“Two blades with lion head motifs and… olives? I think those are olives.”

 

The moment Shiro touched his skin, Keith felt a shock of electricity course through his limbs and ignite his every nerve ending, chills running along his flesh as he sucked in a breath.

 

“Sorry, my hands are cold,” Shiro chuckled, “I should have warned you.”

 

“It’s okay,” he breathed, trying to recover from the shock of his touch.

 

There was no denying that it had been something other than the cold that had sent chills along his limbs.

 

“Lance was right, I think yours is the easiest.”

 

Keith released a heavy breath as he felt Shiro slide back towards the middle of the couch, giving him space. 

 

“Well, that was easy,” Shiro muttered after a few minutes of searching his phone, “you have two sica blades on your back and a bough of olives. Let’s see… Sica were used by ancient Balkan tribes, the Greeks, and the Romans.”

 

There was a moment of silence as the trio digested what he was saying, though it was broken by Lance who cleared his throat, “uh, what’s the cultural background of mosaics?”

 

Shiro dug around for a moment before answering, “Greco-Roman.”

 

“So, based off of what we know about Keith’s brands, what we know about the Mediterranean roots of yours, Takashi, and the cultural background of mine… We’re thinking Greek and Roman?”

 

Keith hummed to himself for a moment, mulling it around in his mind, “I’m not really sure what I expected but I know that wasn’t it.”

 

Lance’s lips pursed into an endearingly cute, thoughtful, pout. “Does that explain any of the things you guys have felt or seen? Like, you both had those freaky twilight zone moments, would Greco Roman fit in?”

 

Within an instant, Keith was uncomfortable. He thought back to the early morning, the tears he’d woken with, and the image he held of Shiro. When he imagined Shiro kneeling in his muddied tunic, Keith’s sandaled feet nearly sliding off of the bank, he knew that it fit. 

 

“Keith?”

 

Shaking free of his thoughts, Keith looked over to Lance who was watching him, concerned.

 

“Huh?”

 

“Are you okay? You looked really out of it for a minute there. Too much to drink?”

 

He thought about saying yes, about blaming his consumption for a headache and earning himself a worry-free trip back to his own apartment to wallow. His conscience won out, but it was a close vote.

 

“It fits. Greek and Roman, I mean.”

 

Immediately, he had both Shiro and Lance’s attention.

 

“You’re positive,” Shiro asked.

 

Keith took a deep breath, “very. I should probably tell you guys about something that happened to me this morning. I thought it was a dream but it was too vivid and it was almost like I knew what was going to happen next. I’m pretty sure it was a memory or a flashback.”

 

They didn’t speak, giving him time to articulate his thoughts before continuing.

 

“I was looking for someone. I remember my feet hurting because I was wearing sandals. I was walking around and I saw something white and took off running after it. I wound up at the edge of a river and… well, Shiro was there.”

 

“What was he doing,” Lance asked, intent as he listened.

 

At once, the guilt that he’d felt from the morning resurfaced. 

 

“He was washing his arms in the river… Washing blood off of them. I don’t know what happened but I know, I could feel, that I did it. Whatever happened, it was my fault. He wasn’t mad, though. When he saw me I started to cry and I just fell, like my legs gave out. He, uh… He grabbed me and hugged me. I asked him why. I don't know what the context was, I just kept asking him ‘why.’”

 

“What did he- I mean, _ I, _ say,” Shiro asked, turning to pin Keith with a curious glance.

 

Keith couldn’t hold his gaze and he had to look away.

 

“ _ I would move the very heavens themselves for someone who makes our hearts beat as you do,”  _ he repeated before looking back up to him, “but, to me, all it sounded like was when you told me that you do what you can for the ones you love. When I woke up, I was crying and I felt so guilty, I can’t even begin to explain it to you. I’ve never felt anything so emotionally painful in my life. I don’t know what I did but I know it wasn’t good.”

 

Shiro’s eyes widened and he looked back to Lance who was looking between the two of them with a mixture of surprise and awe. Keith didn’t know what he feared more, anger or hurt, but he was both thankful and confused when he saw neither of those things on Lance. He didn’t know how he’d feel if someone, a stranger, had told him about a memory involving his lover that was clearly emotional. He didn’t want to upset them, but neither did he want to lie to them.

 

“I think,” Shiro said, standing from his seat after a few moments of crippling silence, “that we need more beer.”


	10. Chapter 10

 

Shiro reached for the empties on the coffee table, plugging his fingers into the mouths of the bottles so that he could carry them into the kitchen. The glass clinked as he brought his fingers together, tightening his hold. He had to get off of that couch and he had to get some space between himself and Keith. Lance let him by and gave him a concerned look but remained silent and seated. No one spoke as he busied himself, tossing the empty bottles into the trash can by the table.

 

“Anybody want some water or something to else to drink?”

 

“Water, please,” Keith called to him, not looking back at him.

 

Shiro only nodded to himself, saying nothing else. He turned on the faucet and began to wash his hands first, rinsing the residual beer from his fingers. It was almost comical now that he’d been so worried when he’d seen Keith complete Lance’s brand. Pursing his lips, he scrubbed at his clean skin, thoughts deviating. It was comical that he’d been worried about Lance developing feelings for Keith when it was Shiro himself who was feeling the tug of attraction.

 

Keith was an attractive man, there was no doubt about that, but hadn’t found himself with a piqued interest in a pretty stranger since that afternoon on the beach at Key Biscayne all those years ago. Keith possessed something similar to what he experienced with Lance, some overwhelming bright aura about him that attracted Shiro like a moth no matter how much he despised it internally. It left him with a sour taste in his mouth, guilt burrowing into his heart with every pull he felt. 

 

Hearing Keith’s memory had only added to his guilt the more Keith had shown his own. Looking for the meaning of their brands meant closure for Lance and himself, that’s all they’d been looking for, but the more time he spent with Keith, the more he saw and heard of their past, the more he was convinced that Keith was meant to have a place in their lives. When he’d touched his skin, finger tracing along the tip of one of the sica blades, he too had felt the sharp sting of electricity that singed his nerves. He could say it was the cool touch of his fingers that caused him to gasp, but Shiro wouldn’t believe him. 

 

A snippet of a dream he’d had a few nights earlier curled its way through his mind, snaking tendrils of whispered moans slithering behind his mind’s eye like a tempting fog. 

 

“Takashi? You’ve been washing your hands for like ten minutes.”

 

Shiro shook out of his thoughts at the sound of Lance’s call, clearing his throat and trying to calm himself as he turned off the faucet and dried his hands on the towel hanging on the oven handle. He grabbed a beer from the case and a bottled water from the fridge before he headed back to join them, taking his seat in between Lance and Keith. After handing Keith the water, he popped the top on his beer and took a deep gulp.

 

“You good?”

 

“I’m fine, Lance. Let’s get back to it,” he said, trying to clear his head.

 

Lance and Shiro shared a look over him but didn’t press. 

 

“Well, I guess now we should try to narrow the time period down, right?”

 

Lance thumbed through his phone with squinted eyes, his cheeks and the tip of his ears reddening from the wine he’d imbibed. Shiro reached out to steady him as he swayed, finding immediate comfort in the way he melted against him. Lance was a constant in his life, a source of perpetual joy even when he drove him halfway to madness, and his touch soothed the disquiet in Shiro’s mind.

 

“Mmhmm, why don’t you let me do that,” Shiro suggested, reaching for his own phone, “if you put the phone any closer to your face you’ll merge with it.”

 

“Lil blurry,” Lance shrugged with a dopey smile that made him chuckle, “but I could probably manage.”

 

“Humor me.”

 

Shiro scrolled through his browser, looking for dates that corresponded to the use of sica blades to find a potential time period that might narrow down their search.

 

“Isn’t Greco Roman like a giant chunk of time,” Lance asked, leaning his cheek lazily against Shiro’s shoulder so that he could squint at his screen.

 

“We’ll have to take that into consideration alongside Keith’s blades. From what I can tell, they were used by gladiators in Rome. If we put those two timelines together, from what I’m finding right now, I think we can narrow it down to 150BC - 400AD.”

 

Lance sighed, “that’s still a pretty big hunk of time.”

 

“Not much we can do about that,” Shiro shrugged, “I don't really know how we could narrow it down further right now.”

 

Lance turned his face to the right, sliding down a little so that his ear was almost to Shiro’s heart as he looked over at Keith.

 

“Can we at least agree that Keith was probably a gladiator? I mean, from what I read of ‘Inked,’ at least one of them had a hobby somethin’ that made sense with their previous incarnation. It would make sense if you add in the swords on his back.”

 

Shiro looked over at Keith, tilting his head a little as he imagined him wielding those swords on his back. It was all too easy to picture.

 

“Well,” Keith shrugged a shoulder, “I do fight, so it wouldn’t be much of a stretch.”

 

“Admit it,” Lance grinned, “you think that’s pretty cool.”

 

The corner of Keith’s mouth turned up in a small smile and he just shrugged again, “wouldn’t be the worst thing I could have imagined.”

 

“Knew it. I think it’s kinda cool too.”

 

Keith laughed at Lance’s smug smile. Their interaction made Shiro feel… comforted. He wondered if he’d missed any reactions between the two of them as he noted how little tension remained in the atmosphere around the trio. Maybe, if Lance felt the same sort of attraction that he did, he wouldn’t have to feel so guilty for feeling it himself. Beyond that, however, watching the two of them interact so fluidly, so naturally, so easily, had a way of making him forget the worry in the back of his mind.

 

“I don't think we can say anything yet,” Shiro brought them both back to Earth, “but I don't think it would be much of a stretch either.”

 

“Okay, so where do we go from here,” Keith asked, crossing his arms over his chest, “like, what do we look for now?”

 

“I’m not entirely sure,” Shiro answered honestly, “I really wasn’t even expecting to get this far.”

 

Keith snickered, shaking his head, “neither did I, to tell you the truth.”

 

“We’re a good research team,” Lance beamed, the picture of tipsy perfection.

 

“Mmmhmm,” Shiro couldn’t stop himself from kissing the top of his head, “I have to agree.”

 

“We did some good work,” Keith agreed, “even if some of it was awkward as seven hells.”

 

“I’d drink to that,” Shiro chuckled, “I think I’ll do some research over the next few days and see what I can come up with. Maybe if I look through firsthand accounts, I can figure out some other ways to narrow the period down a little.”

 

“Good idea,” Keith nodded, “let me know if you find anything.”

 

“I sure will.”

 

“You guys want to finish the game since we’ve hit a good stopping place,” Lance asked, “I don't think we’re going to get anymore done tonight.”

 

“You’re probably right, shouldn’t push our luck. I’m down for watching,” Keith agreed, sipping at his water, “I don't have anywhere else to be.”

 

“As if we’d let you leave if you did,” Lance snorted, “you’ve had too much to drink to be on the road.”

 

“Says the wino,” Keith taunted, earning a flipped middle finger from Lance as he reached for the remote to unmute the game.

 

The three of them settled in to watch the rest of the game, spending the next two hours on the edge of their seats for a tie-game nailbiter that flew into overtime and finally ended with a score of nine to ten at the bottom of the tenth inning with the Giants coming out on top thanks to a lucky RBI single. As the game came to an end, the trio fell back against the cushions, releasing the breaths they’d be holding.

 

“That was close,” Keith sighed.

 

“Definitely a good way to close out a Sunday evening,” Shiro smiled, rubbing Lance’s arm to keep his fluttering eyelids from falling closed, “but I think it’s time for bed. You have an early day, don’t you, Keith?”

 

“Yeah,” Keith rubbed the back of his hand over his eye as he yawned, “six comes early.”

 

“Well you’re sleeping here since we had some drinks. I’d feel better knowing you weren’t on the road.”

 

“That’s fine,” Keith smiled slightly, the sleepiness softening his usual edges, “I appreciate the concern.”

 

“No problem. Lance and I have to get up early anyway so we’ll wake you when we get up. Want to help me move the coffee table? The couch pulls out.”

 

“Sure.”

 

After prodding Lance to sluggishly move his way behind the couch to rest his forearms against it and watch them, Shiro and Keith pushed the coffee table forward and removed the couch cushions to pull out the bed hidden within. 

 

“I’ll get some pillows and a blanket,” Lance yawned, padding off into the tiny laundry room to grab extra linens and two pillows from the cabinet over the washing machine.

 

“Thanks for tonight,” Shiro smiled as they waited for him to return, “it means a lot to us.”

 

“It’s cool hanging out with you guys,” Keith shrugged nonchalantly, though Shiro could see the pink coloring the tips of his ears and the way he had to try to smother the smile in his eyes, “I’m glad I could be of some help.”

 

“You’re welcome anytime, we’d love to have you.”

 

Shiro turned away after the words left his lips, visions of the dream he’d had resurfacing to tint his own cheeks.

 

“Here you go, Keith,” Lance came back with an armful of bedding, “let me know if that’s enough or if you need another blanket.”

 

“It should be fine, I run hot,” Keith chuckled, “thanks. You two get some sleep.”

 

“You too. See you in the morning,” Lance waved lazily after turning off the lights, wrapping his arm around Shiro’s as he guided him to their bedroom.

 

Shiro closed the door quietly behind them.

 

“Hey pretty boy,” he called to Lance in amusement as he fell face first onto the mattress, “you’re still wearing your clothes.”

 

“Take’em off me,” came his muffled reply.

 

Chuckling to himself, Shiro shucked off his pants and pulled off his shirt, moving over to the bed clad only in a pair of black boxers. Easing him to his back, Shiro slid his hands up Lance’s sides as his lover watched him through heavy lashes, reveling in the shiver that slid over his limbs as his fingertips moved across his ribs. Pushing the fabric up, he pulled the sweater off and then let his fingers glide back down his arms, ghosting along his chest and torso, to get to his waistband.

 

“Are you trying to take advantage of me in my tipsy state, Mr. Shirogane,” Lance asked, voice silky and low as Shiro curled his fingers into the waistband and began dragging his thin sweats over his narrow hips.

 

“I wouldn’t dream of taking advantage of you when you’re not coherent enough to enjoy it thoroughly,” he hummed in response, feeling the ache for him beginning to pool in his groin despite his words.

 

Lance helped pull his legs out of the sweats and held his arms out as Shiro straightened, “c’mere.”

 

His hair was a mess, sticking out in multiple directions, and his bright blue boxers stuck out against his complexion, but he was a beautiful disaster, his arms wide for him, his lips pink from his wine, his lids heavy as he looked up at him. God, Shiro thought as he put his knee over his hip and fell onto the bed beside him, but he was everything. He reached out to him and pulled him close, the blessed weight of his body against his own setting his heart aflutter as it always seemed to do.

 

He nuzzled against Lance’s neck, breathing in the honey of his lotion and the cucumber of his shampoo, placing several light kisses against the skin above his collar.

 

“Mm,” Lance murmured softly, his eyes closed, “you’re awful touchy tonight.”

 

“Is that a bad thing?”

 

“No,” he answered quickly, “but it isn’t like you when I’ve been drinking.”

 

“I can stop.”

 

“Please don’t, I like it.”

 

Shiro rubbed his hand over the soft skin at his waist, fingers trailing over the slight swell of his hip, “I like it too.”

 

Lance opened his eyes.

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

Shiro was struck by the sudden clarity there overshadowing his fatigue and the lingering effects of his wine.

 

“Anything.”

 

“Does it bother you when I’m alone with Keith after what happened at the bar?”

 

The question caught Shiro completely off guard and for a moment he lacked the words to respond.

 

“No,” he answered after a moment, searching his feelings, “I trust you completely and I don’t have any right to police who you spend your time with.”

 

“No, but you can tell me if it makes you uncomfortable. You’ve been acting a little funny ever since Keith talked about his dream-thing and you didn’t have enough beer to be that buzzed. If that isn’t what’s bothering you, can you tell me what is?”

 

Shiro didn’t answer him at first, struggling with himself. He didn’t make a habit of hiding things from Lance, no matter how embarrassing or stupid they often were. This, though, was a different case. It had the potential to hurt him. After a few minutes, with Lance still patiently waiting on his answer, Shiro found the words and spoke his truth. 

 

“I had a dream a few nights ago that’s been getting under my skin.”

 

Cheek on his shoulder, Lance turned his face up, “was it like Keith’s? One of those things where it was a dream but not a dream?”

 

Shiro didn’t look back at him and instead focused his gaze on the ceiling as he shook his head.

 

“No, it was an actual dream. It involved Keith.”

 

He could feel Lance hum against his skin, “what was the rating on this dream?”

 

“Mature.”

 

“Uh huh… What happened?”

 

“What, you want a play by play?”

 

He regretted the snap the moment he said it, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to bite at you.”

 

Lance was completely unperturbed, “you know you can tell me anything, Takashi. I’m not going to get mad at you over a dream. Why does it bother you so much?”

 

Sighing, Shiro shook his head, “it bothers me because I was okay with it.”

 

“Keith’s hot,” Lance snorted, “I’ve had dreams about boning Matt Bomer. You could do worse.”

 

“You’ve been having more White Collar marathons with Allura, haven’t you?”

 

“Yes, but back to the problem- It was just a dream, Takashi, and I’m not worried about you having sex with Keith.”

 

“I wasn’t having sex with Keith,” Shiro confided quietly, “you were.”

 

“Uh, what?”

 

Shiro closed his eyes and ran a hand over his weary face, massaging his left temple. 

 

“I was sitting in that chair in the corner,” he told him, “watching the two of you together.”

 

Unlike most dreams, the visuals hadn’t faded away; he could still vividly recall the images. He’d watched the pair of them, awkward at first as they reached out to one another, hesitant fingers tracing new bodies. It had set his loins ablaze to watch them, to see Lance moan under the touch of Keith’s hands, to see Keith bite his lip when Lance rolled his hips against him. Erotic and captivating, he’d watched them, feeling the blood rush to his groin as their touches grew bolder and frenzied. Shiro could still hear the breathy cry as Lance slid down onto him, could still see the shudder of Keith’s shoulders as he held him close, letting him adjust to his size as he peppered kisses along his throat. 

 

Shiro shivered, feeling a renewed fire in his belly as he pictured the scenes again. He’d woken ashamed and hard, unable to forget the visions of the pair of them intertwined. After taking a deep breath, Shiro recounted the dream to Lance who listened quietly, drawing abstract patterns on his chest with the hand he laid there. He didn’t want to open his eyes. He didn’t want to glance down at him and see pain or disappointment darkening his gaze. When he did finally force himself look down at him, however, he saw neither of those things there.

 

Lance was wearing a comforting smile and he rubbed his hand over Shiro’s chest, “how did it make you feel?”

 

“Guilty.”

 

“Before that.”

 

“...You mean how I felt watching you?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“I… liked it.”

 

“Do you remember earlier when you touched his back and he shivered?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“That turned me on.”

 

Shiro blinked a few times, processing his words over in his mind a few times before they made sense. Lance’s smile was still firmly in place. 

 

“You’re kidding.”

 

“Dead serious. I think if I’d had a dream of the two of you together, I might have liked it too.”

 

They lay together quietly for a few moments, each of them ruminating on the words of the other.

 

“Do you like Keith,” Lance asked.

 

Shiro hesitated, trying to find the words to describe how he felt.

 

“I feel a magnetic sort of pull towards him… It’s almost like how I felt when I first met you.”

 

Saying it aloud was both freeing and frightening; it made it real and they were words he wouldn’t be able to retract. 

 

“I like him too.”

 

Lance’s smile wilted and Shiro placed his hand over where Lance’s had stilled on his chest. 

 

“You look upset,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb along the back of his hand, “are you okay?”

 

“I kind of am upset, not at you, just in general. I’ve felt like garbage after that night at the bar and I was worried about spending time alone with Keith because I knew how upset you’d been that I might run off with him or something. Feeling this, whatever it is, for him has been such a fucking nightmare,” he admitted, his words coming out in a jumble, “because I do like him and I like being around him but I don’t want you to think that means I don’t still love you…”

 

“Lance,” Shiro let his hand glide up Lance’s arm, reaching up to his cheek, “I know you love me, and you know I love you. This situation is… strange, but the two of us having feelings, or whatever they are, for Keith doesn’t mean we have less of them for each other, right?”

 

“Right,” Lance nodded, “I just didn’t think it would happen, y’know? I’ve been afraid to say anything because I was worried I would hurt you.”

 

Shiro could have laughed, thinking back to how worried he had just been about sharing his dream with Lance.

 

“Yeah, that’s how I felt about that dream.”

 

“I’m glad you told me, though. I feel better knowing that you feel it too.”

 

“Yeah. You should get some sleep, you look ready to fall out.”

 

Shiro lifted Lance's face so that he could place a sweet kiss to his lips before he gently disentangled himself from him so that he could take a few minutes to remove his prosthetic, place it on the bedside table, and pull back the bedspread. 

 

“Sure you don’t want to take advantage of me first,” Lance yawned, burrowing under the blankets before Shiro could answer.

 

“Raincheck,” he laughed, joining him beneath the blankets and turning to his side, “definitely getting a raincheck.

 

Lance sidled up behind him, throwing a long leg over his own and wrapping himself around him like the octopus equivalent of the big spoon. Shiro smiled, basking in the feel of his heart beating against his back and the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against him.

 

* * *

  
  


It was ten ‘til five when Lance’s cell phone lit up the darkness and began to screech, the high pitched alarm sending Lance shooting up almost immediately. 

 

“The hell,” Shiro grumbled, turning to squint over his shoulder, “what happened to that song you had? That sounds like a rooster getting murdered.”

 

“I kept almost sleeping through ‘Passionfruit,’” Lance answered as he tried to clear the bleariness from his eyes to complete the puzzle on the screen and stop the racket spewing from his phone, “

 

“Turn that off before my ears bleed.”

 

“Don’t rush perfection,” he huffed as he finally hit the numbers in the right order, sighing heavily at the blessed silence before reaching over to turn on the lamp on his table.

 

“What time is it?”

 

“Ten ‘til five.”

 

“Ugh.”

 

“I know, but we have to get up. I’m meeting Allura at seven and you need to be ready to go at least by seven if you plan to get to Santa Cruz in time to get that shipment you were telling me about.”

 

“I don't know why Mark can’t just pick up his own damn shipment,” Shiro groaned, “getting up before the birds just to get the pieces for a kinetic display isn’t in my job description.”

 

“Up and at’em my big ‘ol pack mule,” Lance grinned, leaning down to kiss his cheek, “I’m going to go wake up Keith and make breakfast.”

 

“Come get me when food is done,” Shiro nuzzled back into his pillow.

 

Lance thought about forcing up him but decided to let him have a few extra minutes. He was quiet as he slid out of bed, stretching before moving over to the closet to grab one of Shiro’s shirts. Shiro was so broad, and Lance was so thin, that the black button up made Lance look a child playing dress up. He liked the feel of the silken material as it slid across his thighs and the airy drape of it as he moved through the doorway, leaving the bedroom door just ajar. 

 

The living room was lit only by the slight glow of the city beyond the neighborhood and the passing headlights from the road below. The uncovered windows that made up most of the right wall of the living room showed a lowering waning moon as Lance padded barefoot over to where Keith was spread out like a starfish on the pull out bed, turning on the floor lamp by the arm.

 

“Hey, Keith,” Lance called to him, stopping just shy of the bed frame, “it’s time to get up.”

 

Keith let out an incoherent mumble and shifted his position, turning his head away from him. Lance rolled his eyes and sat down, perching just on the edge of the bed. 

 

“C’mon, man, don’t make me dump some water on you,” Lance muttered, reaching over to nudge his bared shoulder.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Keith said, his voice low and thick with sleep, “I’m awake.”

 

“Could have fooled me,” Lance prodded him again, “you’re about five seconds from falling back to sleep. If you’ll hurry up and get moving, I can stop pestering you and make breakfast.”

 

“How domestic,” Keith yawned, rolling onto his back.

 

Lance’s queued witty comment died in his throat as Keith stretched his arms above his head, letting the gold comforter pool around his hips as his body moved. His hair was unbound, a black river against the crisp white of the pillows, and he’d taken off his shirt. His body, pale and trim, arched as he continued to stretch his muscles, causing Lance’s mouth to dry. Again he was struck by just how incredibly attractive he was, how fit and toned he was, and he felt his fingers twitch as he thought of how it would feel to touch him.

 

As Keith sat up, Lance gasped, his breath stolen as the image hit him like a freight train. 

 

> _ His hair fell around them like a curtain as Keith looked down upon Lance with a bittersweet softness and his fingertips grazed his jaw so lightly that Lance might have been a fragile trinket. He could feel heat, need building as he thrust his hips, almost causing Lance to moan aloud. He clutched at the tunic gathered around his hips, dragging him closer, deeper. It wasn’t enough, it would never be enough. Keith closed in on him, his lips skimming Lance’s. _
> 
>  
> 
> _ “Roar for me, Little Lion.” _

 

Lance shot up in a heartbeat, his breath ragged as he leaned against the arm of the sofa for support. He could feel the residual desire in his blood, an almost overwhelming need for him. Coupled with it, however, was sorrow. He’d wanted him, not just physically. Something had been wrong. It was still so strong within him, the memory gripping his heart and squeezing with nails that bit into his core. 

 

“Lance?”

 

He paid him no mind, moving automatically to the coffee table to pick up the bottle of wine he’d recorked and left sitting in the center. Taking it to the kitchen, he pried out the cork and took a long, deep, gulp of the wine, coughing as he breathed some of it into his lungs. 

 

“Lance, what did you see?”

 

He refused to turn, shaking his head as he took another drink, “i-it’s too damn early to be seeing shit like that. I know I was jealous of you two having memories and being able to see flashbacks and shit, but I didn’t think it was  _ like that _ .”

 

“Like what, Lance? Spit it out.”

 

Lance shook his head again, a shiver playing his spine as he leaned on his forearms over the sink. The idea of experiencing a memory from the past had been so enchanting to him, so exciting, but his expectation had been nothing like reality. Still he could feel its tendrils reaching into him, the sorrow chilling his bones as he thought of how desperate he’d felt, how much he’d needed his touch. He needed to make sense of it but it was only a fragment, a snippet out of context. 

 

“Hey, it’s five in the morning, what could I have possibly even missed?”

 

Lance could hear the bedroom door creak as Shiro opened it and he finally turned, wine bottle still in hand. Shiro stood in the doorway with his arms crossed over his bare chest, still only in his boxers as he looked between where Lance stood at the sink and where Keith sat on the pull out glaring into the kitchen. 

 

“Lance had a flashback thing,” Keith told him, “and he’s refusing to talk about it.”

 

He felt like a child that had just been tattled on. Shiro walked through the kitchen and over to where Lance stood still, hand tight on the neck of the bottle.

 

“What happened, Lance?”

 

Lance opened his mouth and then promptly closed it, trapped in both of their gazes, before taking another swig of his wine. The tart liquid did little to calm his nerves.

 

“Lance,” Shiro dropped his voice and reached for the bottle in his hand, “come on, it’s too early to drag this out. You okay?”

 

He let Shiro take the bottle from him and sit it on the counter.

 

“I will be,” he muttered.

 

“So, what was it?”

 

“A mental porno, apparently.”

 

Both Shiro and Keith could only say, “what?”

 

“Keith said ‘Roar for me, Little Lion,’ and he was above me and-”

 

Lance slid past Shiro to grab the bottle and turn it up, draining the last few sips that remained.

 

“-and it’s too damn early for this.”

 

There was a tiny part of him that felt smug at the surprised expressions they wore, knowing that they were realizing just how hard it must have been to admit it aloud. If awkward could have killed, the three of them would have died on the spot. There was silence for several long, agonizing, minutes.

 

“Well,” Shiro blinked a few times, scratching at the back of his bed-head, “that’s… new.”

 

Keith, even in the soft lighting, was red enough for Lance to make out from the kitchen.

 

“I do wonder, though,” Lance let himself muse aloud, trying valiantly to move beyond the feeling he still felt slithering around in his mind and throb he still still felt in his groin, “why you keep calling me ‘little lion?’ Does that mean anything to you, Keith? I mean, does it ring any bells or anything?”

 

Though he was still lit up like a christmas light, Keith shook his head, “no, but when I said it the first time it felt… affectionate. It must be a nickname I had for you.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Anyway… I should probably get going. I need to be at the gym and I have to stop by my place first.”

 

Keith slid off of the pull out and pulled his shirt off the floor, slipping it over his head, “thanks for letting me stay, sorry I can’t hang around for breakfast.”

 

“It was our pleasure,” Shiro shook his head, “don’t worry about it; maybe some other time.”

 

Keith paused as he took in those words and Lance watched him nod, “yeah, I think I’d like that. Want me to put this back in the couch?”

 

“Nah, we’ll handle it, you get going.”

 

“Be careful and have a safe trip home,” Lance offered as he made for the door, watching as he pulled his hair up while he walked.

 

“Have a good one,” Shiro added.”

 

“Yeah, you guys too. It was... nice. See you later.”

 

He grabbed his helmet from where it was still seated on the kitchen table and flashed them a small half smile before he let himself out. A few minutes after Keith had shut the door behind him, Shiro turned his attention back to Lance. He took the empty bottle back out of his hand and, once more, placed it on the counter.

 

“You okay,” he asked softly.

 

“I’m fine… That was just so weird.”

 

Shiro leaned his hip against the counter, “did it bother you that much? After what we talked about last night I wouldn’t have expected you to get so upset over something like that.”

 

Lance didn’t know how to put it into words and he struggled trying to find a way to explain himself.

 

“At first it was the sex, it caught me completely off guard… But that went away pretty quickly. It was the feeling under it that bothered me, Takashi, it was how… sad I felt underneath everything else. It was like I was trying to hold onto him. And hearing him say that name, that ‘little lion,’ when it was almost like I knew that he was going to leave… It broke my heart.”

 

He rubbed a hand over his chest, fisting loosely in his shirt. It had been there, under his desire and his want, tainting his pleasure. Shiro moved in, sliding an arm around him to comfort him.

 

“He really must have been important to us,” he murmured.

 

“I… I would even go as far as to say he might have been the most important person to us. If you could have felt that, Takashi... “

 

Lance shivered, recalling how Keith had looked at him in his memory. 

 

“He’s meant to be in our lives, one way or another,” Lance told him, looking towards the door Keith had disappeared through, “don’t ask me how, don’t ask me why, I just know it.”


	11. Chapter 11

 

Tomlin frowned as he sat cross-legged on the too-hard mattress, an unlit cigarette hanging limply from lips, looking at the multiple photos of the young man he’d been following. From the photos, even from some of the partial silhouettes, it was easy for him to see the resemblance. He had those same eyes, similar facial structure, and that scowl was practically a living copy of her. He’d known early on that he’d found the right man when he saw that face.

 

The legal pad on his lap held all of the information he’d gathered while trailing him for the past six weeks- the gym he worked at, the people he met with, the shitty apartment he lived in.  It was one of the shortest lists that he’d compiled in the many years of his craft. Keith didn’t have much in the way of friends or belongings, his only lengthy holdings being the bike that he owned and the checking account that he held. In the way of contacts, it only seemed that he had one personal acquaintance that he met with regularly outside of his gym clientele.

 

He regretted his approach earlier in the day, something about his immediate disregard for Tomlin’s information catching a nerve. He knew that he’d overstepped his grounds but, even as he’d done it, he couldn’t seem to make himself stop. He’d gone soft, he concluded, too affected by his client’s emotion to allow himself to step back as she’d requested. Transferring the cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other, grabbed his cell phone from his side and dialed, holding the phone to his ear as he continued to stare at the photos littering the top of the scratchy hotel comforter.

 

“Hello?”

 

She sounded tired again, exhausted, even with only the utterance of a single word.

 

“Hey, it’s Tomlin.”

 

“Yeah, I know, I’m more interested in why you waited until eight in the evening to call.”

 

“I wanted to brief you.”

 

“Well, I’d hoped it wasn’t just for a friendly chit-chat.”

 

He knew from experience that there was no malice to her words, only frustration.

 

“He approached me today, caught me taking photos. I think that’s the first time he’s actually noticed me.”

 

“You were supposed to be done following him, Tomlin. I told you to leave him alone.”

 

“I know what you said. I wanted to make absolutely certain that he was the right one and be sure that he had the opportunity to think things over before I left.”

 

“I told you it was him.”

 

“Mothers have been wrong before. It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him, time changes a person.”

 

“I’m not wrong.”

 

“I know, but we couldn’t have known that at first.”

 

“What did he say when he spoke to you?”

 

Tomlin’s lips tightened around the cigarette for a second.

 

“You mean before he told me to fuck off? He said he doesn’t want anything to do with either of us and that his mother is dead.”

 

Though he could only hear a slight noise to indicate her sigh, he could clearly picture her fallen face. His stomach fell with it.

 

“I want you to leave him alone, Tomlin, get out of the city. As long as he’s safe,... I can be at peace with that.”

 

He wanted to refute her, their friendship making him want to stay and shake her son until he got the picture. Regardless, he nodded to the empty room.

 

“Okay. Do you want me to focus on Michael?”

 

“Yes,” she answered, her voice clear as she shifted her attention, “but whatever you do, do not engage him. I don't know if he’s still in trouble and if he is, it’s best that neither of you have contact with the other. I don't want to spook him and I don't want you to get in the middle of it. Be as discreet as you can.”

 

Tomlin snorted, “you think I’ve made it this long in the field by announcing myself?”

 

“Right, because my son saw you by accident.”

 

“I wasn’t worried about him seeing me; he already knew I’d been following him.”

 

“Just be careful and remember what I said.”

 

“I will. I’ll leave for Oregon tomorrow. When I have something, I’ll let you know.”

 

“Thank you. Be careful.”

 

She hung up before he could get in another word. He sat the phone down beside him, taking another minute to look down at the images of Keith before he swept them all together and reached for the file folder with his name on it, carefully tucking them away inside. Unfolding his legs, he reached for the manila envelope that sat sealed on the bedside table. As he’d promised, Tomlin would leave the next afternoon, but he had one thing to do first.  


* * *

 

Keith spent the better part of his workday trying not to think about his early morning wake up. He’d launched right into work after stopping by his apartment and showering, checking his schedule and taking enthusiastically to his first client of the morning when they’d arrived at the gym. By mid afternoon, he’d run out of steam. It was too much effort to keep the incident from his mind and it was nearly impossible for him not to picture Lance’s vision, not to imagine touching him as he called to him with that nickname, ‘Little Lion.’ It also didn’t help that he could still vividly picture Shiro standing in the doorway in his boxers with mussed hair, his voice an impossibly sexy, low, grumble still laced with sleep. Keith wasn’t sure if it was the situation in itself that was wearing on him or if it’d just been that long since he’d gotten laid.

 

A shiver played his spine and he turned his attention back to his client, watching as he counted off, Keith’s hands just under the weighted bar as a safety precaution to keep him from dropping it and hurting himself. While he tried not to think about Lance’s vision, he did spend a great deal of time thinking of Lance and Shiro. Their evening together had been comforting. He hadn’t known what to expect and despite their first meeting putting him a little more at ease, he’d been wary of seeing them again. Sitting with them, drinking with them, talking and sharing with them, however, had left him feeling like they saw him as more than a way to find meaning with one another. Truly, it felt like they were trying to connect with him just as much they were trying to connect with themselves, and that left him with a feeling he couldn’t name. When he’d spent time with them, he’d felt at home.

 

It was a strange feeling, one that left him craving more after each exposure. In a way, he felt ashamed of his urge to see them again, as though it was wrong for him to want to after he’d spent so much time alone. He couldn’t ignore how good it had felt to be there, however, and he wanted to see them again. Though, he would likely need some time before he could properly look Lance in the eyes again.

 

He was saved from his thoughts when the door opened around four and Pidge walked in. Keith could tell she was steamed by the way she walked, arms swinging hard as she breezed surprisingly quickly across the large room, aiming for the treadmills. He waved to her as she passed and she lifted her chin in a slight acknowledgment, saying nothing. Keith finished with his client, watching him carefully as he began his cool-down before he approached her.

 

“Work?”

 

She huffed as she sped up the treadmill, settling into a warm up jog, “yeah, left early, they pissed me off.”

 

Keith leaned his arms on the left stability bar, cocking his head, “what’d they do?”

 

“I keep trying to tell them they need an overhaul because this company is using an outdated system with wonky operating procedures but they keep telling me it’ll work fine if I can just tweak what they have. Yeah, I can make it work better, but I can’t turn a piece of shit into a bar of gold.”

 

“And they won’t work with you?”

 

“Nope,” she grumbled, squinting at the memory, “they just tell me it’s my job and I should just fix what they tell me to fix. I’m good but I’m not a fucking wizard.”

 

“Coulda fooled me,” he shrugged, smirking at the side eye she gave him.

 

“What’s got you in a good mood? You’re not scowling half as much as I’m used to; it’s creeping me out.”

 

“Nothing. Can’t a guy just scowl a little less than normal?”

 

“A normal guy, sure, but not you. What’s the deal? You do something fun this weekend for a change?”

 

Keith huffed, “you say that like I don't ever enjoy myself.”

 

Her flat look earned an eye roll.

 

“I didn’t do anything out of the norm, except go see Shiro and Lance.”

 

That got her full attention. She pressed a few of the touchscreen buttons and slowed her pace to a walk.

 

“I thought you weren’t planning on seeing them again after the thing at Aces?”

 

Keith shrugged a shoulder, “I wasn’t, but it made me feel like a jackass. I saw Lance out and stopped to talk to him. I told him that I wouldn’t drop everything I was doing but that I would try to help if I could find the time.”

 

“That was nice of you. Did you figure anything out?”

 

“We did yesterday. I swung by for a few minutes last week but we needed a plan of attack for this thing. Yesterday evening we narrowed down the time period for the brands.”

 

Pidge raised her brows, “you met with them twice?”

 

“Mmhmm.”

 

“What did you think of them?”

 

He could easily pick out the multitude of hidden questions within her tone.

 

“They’re cool,” he shrugged again, feeling the weight of her attention, “it didn’t feel like I thought it would.”

 

“What did it feel like, then?”

 

It was a trap and he knew it. Keith chose his words carefully, “it didn’t feel like they expected too much from me. When they asked for something, they gave just as much.”

 

She gave a low whistle, grinning a devious grin, “man, you know I was joking when I was talking about bagging them, right?”

 

He snorted, “it’s not like that.”

 

“Really? Then why do you look sickeningly starry-eyed?”

 

“I’m a grown man, I don't look starry-eyed.”

 

“Yeah, it’s weird _because_ you’re a grown man.”

 

“Man, would you quit? We’re just-”

 

Keith stopped before he said it. ‘We’re just friends.’ They’d only met three times, it wasn’t like he could say that they were friends, not really. He felt it, though, the easy camaraderie that had seemed to appear magically between them the night before. If that wasn’t what they were, that’s what he wanted them to be. He could have laughed at himself for such an innocent thought.

 

“Just what?”

 

“Just trying to figure out these brands,” he recovered, trying to move on quickly, “that’s all. They’re sorta fun to hang out with, though.”

 

She watched him for several impossibly long seconds, searching his gaze for something, “you should hang out with them more, then. It looks like it’s doing good things for you; I don’t mind the starry eyes if it means you quit scowling so much.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

She grinned, “I’m serious though, you should. Shiro’s basically extended family since he’s Matt’s best friend, so I know he’s a good guy and, if Shiro likes him, then Lance has to be good too.”

 

“Yeah, from what I’ve seen they’re both good guys, but why does it sound like you’re pushing them at me?”

 

“Because I’m your only friend and that’s probably dangerous to your mental health. If you stick with me too long you’ll wind up in the nuthouse. Oh, what did you find out about the brands, by the way?”

 

“Just that I have gladiator swords and olive branches on my back and that we’re probably looking at ancient Rome or Greece.”

 

“Dude, that’s wicked! I can totally see you whooping ass in an arena.”

 

“We have to compare when you figure out what yours is.”

 

Pidge snorted, glancing over to the crook of her right elbow where an empty crescent moon sat on her skin, the corners facing up towards her shoulder. At the center of the moon, a thin black line ran down to the middle of her forearm and then stopped.

 

“That would require me finding a soulmate and I don't know if you’ve met me but that seems farfetched.”

 

“I completed the brands of two random dudes on the one day I managed to do something outside of than the routine I’ve been managing for years. Talk to me about farfetched,” Keith deadpanned to which Pidge chuckled.

 

“Fair enough.”

 

“Okay, I’m getting back. Have a good workout.”

 

“Yeah, thanks.”

 

He left her to work off her frustration in peace and finished out his day, ending his last training session just after seven. After he saw his client to his finishing routine, Keith went to grab his bag and belongings. He pulled out his cellphone, noticing the message light flashing.

 

> From: 648-495-6627
> 
> Hey, it’s Lance. Shiro gave me your number, hope you don't mind.
> 
> Wanted to say sorry about earlier.
> 
> I didn’t mean to run you off

  


Keith half chuckled, shooting off a reply even though it had been hours since his message

  

> From: Keith
> 
> No biggie, I didn’t want to make you feel weird about it and I had to run anyway.
> 
> Sorry for being pushy, I’m not good company in the morning.
> 
>   
> 

Lance answered him back before he had time to put his phone back in his bag.

 

>  
> 
> From: Lance
> 
> Well you’re good company in the afternoon. We’d like to get together again some time if you want. Maybe we can brainstorm some more or catch another game.
> 
>   
> 

Keith felt his stomach flutter at the idea that they wanted to see him again. Though he knew it was just for the brands, he wanted to think that maybe they just enjoyed his company as much as he had been enjoying theirs.

 

>   
> 
> From: Keith
> 
> Yeah, just let me know when. Sounds good to me.
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> From: Lance
> 
> Okay, no push or anything. Just feel free to text me or Shiro whenever.
> 
> We’re always around
> 
>  

Keith smiled to himself as he slid his phone into his pocket and grabbed his wallet and helmet. He checked the street for any sign of his investigator as he walked to his bike, a habit since Lance had tipped him off, but again saw nothing of note as he situated himself. After a short, cool, drive through the city, he was finally back home and ready to collapse face first onto his mattress. He paused, however, when he got to the door of his apartment.

 

Taped to the white of the wood was a manilla envelope with his name scrawled across the front in a messy, unfamiliar, script. Keith turned to look down the hall on both sides of him but the hallways were empty. Cautiously he pulled the envelope away from the door, flipped it around, and opened the tab. Reaching in, he pulled out the single item within- a photo. His intake of breath was sharp as the face stared back at him with a slight smile, a name and number written down by the corner.

 

 

> _**Krolia Kogane** _
> 
> _**(201) 915-7738** _
> 
>  

Keith could only stare down at the photo, his eyes scanning her features, her eyes, her hair, the scar across her cheek. There was no denying the resemblance between them and there was something there, something in her eyes, that touched an image within him, a memory buried under years of rubble that he couldn’t unearth. It was there, however, beating with a fragile pulse, and his fingers shook as he held the photo closer. Questions filled his mind and a bitter taste coated his tongue as he thought about what he knew, _what he thought he knew_.

 

He could barely stand to take his gaze from the photo as he unlocked the door, letting his belongings fall clumsily to the floor just inside the doorway after he kicked the door closed behind him. Keith sat down on his couch, photo still in hand, and gazed upon it in silence.

 

Though he wanted to doubt it, he knew, somewhere within him, that it was her. He hadn’t seen his mother since he was a little kid and yet just seeing the woman’s face in the photograph had aligned almost perfectly to the blurred images he remembered, age doing nothing to dull her features. Much like his own, her dark bangs fell over her face and framed it, the rest tied behind her neck in a haphazard ponytail. Her half smile was so similar to his own and he could sense the awkwardness behind it, probably at the idea of having to smile on cue. The point of her chin, the pert nose, the subtle tilt at the corner of her eyes- it was all mirrored in him.

 

There was an ache in his heart that echoed in his chest and slid throughout his limbs, leaving him fragile and confused as he fought to keep it down where he’d buried it years before. He’d come to terms with losing his mother and being abandoned by his father, they were facts of life that he’d spent years coming to grips with. Now, however, he found the doubt beginning to flower, vines crawling through the cavity of his chest to curl and strangle him. It was too coincidental that she looked so much like him, too coincidental what that investigator had told him in his voicemail.

 

Keith couldn’t handle it. He put the photo gingerly back into the envelope and sat it on the table. Instinct drove him, then, and he didn’t question it. All he knew was he needed something, anything, else to focus on. He was dialing before he realized what he was even doing.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hey, Lance, it’s Keith. Are you busy right now?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> # Merry Christmas // Happy Holidays!! 


	12. Chapter 12

“-and you know how he’s been talking about taking a cruise? Well, he’s finally getting around to it this weekend and I can’t even begin to express how thankful I am. If I have to climb onto that roof to clean those gutters again myself so that I don't have to worry about him breaking his own damn neck, I might literally throttle him. He gets so bored he’ll try to do everything around the house that he can think of.”

 

Lance snorted at Allura’s dramatic sigh as they wound through the throngs of people congregating in clumps throughout the mall, sipping at their iced lattes. The idea of her crawling around on top of her dad’s roof muttering curses had a certain comedic appeal.

 

“I assume Coran is going with him.”

 

She rolled her eyes and grinned, “of course he is. Can you imagine dad leaving without Coran? I think the Earth would stop spinning.”

 

“Where are they going?”

 

“Mexico. Dad seemed really excited and I think the temperature will help him relax. Can you believe he tried to talk me into going?”

 

“To Mexico?”

 

“No, he wanted me to go on a cruise. Not just a cruise, Lance, but one of those corny singles cruises. I think he’s afraid I’m going to be a spinster.”

 

Lance tried to bite down on his laugh, “oh, you poor thing.”

 

“You hush, I don't need sass from someone with two soulmates when I can’t even manage to find a date.”

 

“That’s because beauty is intimidating. Who wouldn’t be afraid of approaching you when you look like, oh I don't know, a model? What about that girl from the last shoot? You know, the pretty blonde who kept turning red every time you looked her way?”

 

“I don’t know, I try not to date where I work.”

 

“Can the spinster afford to be talking like that?”

 

“One more comment like that and I’ll volunteer you for gutter duty when dad gets back.”

 

Lance held up his hands in mock surrender and the pair of them shared a laugh, strolling at a slow, casual, pace through mall. 

 

“Are you going to stay much longer,” she asked as they browsed the shop windows passing by to their right.

 

“Yeah, a little. I’m going to give him as much time as I can.”

 

“I’d stay with you, but-”

 

“Yeah, I know. Don’t worry about it, I can handle being on my own. I’m an adult, no matter what everyone says,” he laughed with an exaggerated wink.

 

“I know you can, but I know that you don't like to be alone. Plus, I can imagine that it would get boring around here by yourself.”

 

She wore her concern like a fine brooch, on display for any passersby to see as she searched his face.

 

“Somehow, I’ll manage.”

 

They traveled around idly for a short while before Lance had to stop, paused by the vibrating in his pocket.

 

“Hold on,” he called to Allura as he reached for his phone, brows shooting up in surprise as Keith’s name flashed across the screen before he answered it.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Hey, Lance, it’s Keith. Are you busy?”

 

There was a nervous energy flowing out of the speaker, a restlessness that didn’t seem like him. Regardless, Lance had a hard time looking past his own giddiness that Keith was calling; he felt like a teenager. 

 

“Hey Keith, no, not really. What’s up?”

 

“Nothing much, I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out for a while? After your text earlier I thought I’d take you up on it.”

 

Though they hadn’t known each other long, Lance was fairly certain that Keith wouldn’t normally jump on such an offer so quickly. Something felt amiss on Keith’s end but Lance didn’t take the time to analyze it, he was too excited by the thought that he actually wanted to see him after the fiasco of their morning together. 

 

“Sure, that’s fine. I’m not at home though, I’m at the mall on Market. You wanna just meet me here?”

 

“Oh, shit, no that’s okay, I didn’t mean to interrupt-”

 

“You aren’t interrupting or bothering, Keith. I’d like to hang out with you, come by.”

 

There was a lapse as Keith thought it over and Lance was fairly sure that he would turn him down. It felt stupid that he was so tense as he waited for him to answer, but he wanted to see him.

 

“If you’re sure, I’ll come down. I mean it, though, I don’t want to interrupt you if you’re in the middle of something.”

 

Lance let out an inaudible sigh of thanks and didn’t give him time to reevaluate, “I’ll be at the North entrance waiting on you. Be safe, I’ll see you soon.”

 

“Okay, sure, I’ll be there in a few.”

 

He was keenly aware of Allura’s questioning gaze as he stuck his phone back into the shallow pocket of his shorts.

 

“I guess I don’t need to feel bad about leaving you all alone, then,” she smirked, “looks like you’ll have an escort. That was soulmate Keith, huh?”

 

Lance cleared his throat, “yeah, that was Keith. He’s going to swing by to hang out for a little while.”

 

Allura’s smirk died down relatively quickly and her voice had lost its playful edge when she spoke again.

 

“How do you think Shiro will feel about that?”

 

He could hardly tell her about the talk that he’d had with Shiro about their shared attraction for Keith the night before.

 

“He’ll be fine with it, he’s met Keith and he has no intention of telling me who I can spend time with and who I can’t. You know he’s not like that.”

 

“I know, but I also know that he was really upset about your tattoo completing. I remember you telling me that he was worried. You’ve always been really sensitive to his feelings so I was just curious. You can tell me to butt out.”

 

Lance doubted he’d ever forget seeing that pain in Shiro’s eyes less than an hour after being emotionally battered from his own art exhibition. His heart ached at the thought.

 

“No, it’s okay. He was worried, but things have changed. After we met with Keith these last few times, we’re both more comfortable. If I thought it would upset him, I wouldn’t do it. You know me.”

 

“Okay,” she nodded, smile returning, “I just wanted to make sure. So you guys like him, then?”

 

“Huh?”

 

He couldn’t stop his voice from rising and he knew Allura didn’t miss it, her lip twitching. Lance could feel the tips of his ears redden. He’d thought back to the night before, to Shiro’s admission and then his own. Did they like him? There was no doubt. Odd though it seemed given their short acquaintance, that was how they felt.

 

“I mean you guys are friends or you think you could be friends?”

 

“Oh, yeah, definitely.”

 

Allura narrowed her eyes, “what did you think I meant?”

 

Lance didn’t have a response that would suffice so he simply stuck his straw in his mouth and took a long gulp of his latte, shrugging a shoulder in a lame attempt at an answer. She watched him for a few seconds before she, thankfully, dropped it.

 

“I’m glad that he decided to help after all,” she hummed as they walked towards the northern entrance to the sprawling building, smiling over at him from her left, “I know you were worried.”

 

“I was,” he agreed as the pair of them stopped just near the automatic doors, “and I’m glad he did, too. I feel weirdly optimistic about the whole thing.”

 

“That’s great! I’m happy for you.”

 

They settled into small talk, chatting on and off about the upcoming local shoots for a small while before Lance caught a familiar figure approaching just beyond the automatic doors. Keith was adjusting a backpack, strapping his helmet to the back of it before he slipped it over his shoulders. He’d re-tied his hair, his ponytail no worse for wear while his bangs were strewn haphazardly around his face, managing to look like an irresistible disaster that had Lance taking another long, deep, gulp of his latte. He tried like hell not to picture his vision from earlier in the day.

 

The doors opened for him and Keith paused for a split second before he approached Lance and Allura, his gaze falling on Allura only momentarily before it slid slowly up Lance’s form. He felt his skin warm under his gaze, a smug smile on Lance’s lips as he watched Keith take in his exposed abdomen and long, bare, legs. The long sleeve white hoodie he wore was cropped just two inches above his navel and the black shorts he wore were sinfully short. Keith's appreciation made him want to strut. 

 

“Hey,” Keith smiled, his voice a hint lower than when he’d last heard it.

 

“Hey Keith,” Lance grinned, “good to see you. This is my friend Allura.”

 

Keith turned a polite smile to Allura where stood beside Lance, an amused smile on her own lips as she reached out a hand to him.

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet another of Lance’s friends,” she said, shaking his hand.

 

“Likewise, I didn’t mean to interrupt you two.”

 

“You aren’t interrupting, she was just waiting with me until you go here. Allura is the one I told you about who brought me to California years ago.”

 

Allura groaned, “oh god, he’s been talking about me? Tell me it was good.”

 

Keith chuckled, “it was only a little and it was good, I promise.”

 

“Small miracles,” she grumbled good-naturedly, playfully elbowing Lance in the rib, “you never know with him.”

 

“Hey, don’t give him the wrong impression before I get to give it myself.”

 

“Whatever you say, love. Anyway, I hate to cut and run so early but I need to get home. It was lovely to meet you Keith, don’t let Lance get into trouble. See you guys!”

 

Lance snorted and shoot his head, kissing her cheek, “yeah yeah, be careful.”

 

“Nice to meet you, too,” Keith called before she turned away, waiting until she was out the door before he turned his attention back to Lance.

 

His discomfort was clear to him, his stance rigid despite the small smile he wore. He was trying too hard.

 

“Relax,” Lance murmured as he started to walk, his pace slow as Keith fell into step at his side, “you don’t need to be on edge.”

 

Keith didn’t even bother trying to refute him.

 

“You should have told me you were busy.”

 

“Oh, would you quit? I wasn’t busy.”

 

“Tell that to your friend that I just ran off.”

 

“You didn’t run her off. She really was only here to wait with me. I think she thinks I’m a kid and she worries I’ll get into trouble alone.”

 

“Could it be because you shop for kids clothes? How are you even comfortable in that?”

 

Lance smirked, wondering if his jab was just an excuse for another look, “we can’t all rock the ‘Beast mode’ tank top and joggers look. Besides, the less I’m in, the more comfortable I am.”

 

Keith opened his mouth to say something and then promptly shut it, clearing his throat.

 

“Sure.”

 

He took a short moment to enjoy the color on Keith’s cheeks before he sobered, letting his amusement fall to the wayside. 

 

“Are you okay, by the way? You didn’t sound so good when you called.”

 

Keith shrugged a shoulder, not looking at him as they walked slowly through the large corridor, “yeah, I’m fine, I just didn’t feel like being home.”

 

Keith’s quiet sigh wasn’t lost on Lance but he took his time replying, happy to bathe in his company and, perhaps, brighten his day with his own. 

 

“Well, you’re free to hang around with me and if you feel like talking about whatever is actually bothering you, I’m a pretty good listener.”

 

“...Right,” Keith said after a minute, small tilt to his lips, “but how was your day? You started early too, you must be tired.”

 

“No, my day was pretty boring. I only started early because Allura wanted to do yoga on the beach; she’s a romantic and sunrise yoga really lights her candle.”

 

“That doesn’t sound too bad though. Is that how you keep in shape for your work?”

 

“Mmhmm,” Lance hummed, reaching up for his arm briefly to pull him closer to his side and out of the way of a group of patrons not looking where they were walking, “we do that a few times a week and I jog my ass off after we’re done. Cardio is my enemy but you gotta do what you gotta do.”

 

“Thanks,” Keith mumbled after Lance released his arm, clearing his throat, “if you ever need any pointers, I’d be happy to help. Fitness is my job, you know.”

 

Lance beamed a smile at his thoughtfulness, “thanks, Keith, I might have to take you up on that! You’d have to go easy on me, though, it’s been a while since I’ve worked out with anyone. Shiro uses the gym by work so I mostly do my own thing outdoors.”

 

“I’m not a drill instructor, you’d be fine with me. I could be gentle with you to start.”

 

Lance’s feet faltered as Keith’s words sparked a fire in his gut and he coughed, righting himself when Keith reached out a hand to steady him. All he could think about was Shiro's dream.

 

“Sounds good,” he managed, focusing his attention straight ahead so that he didn’t have to see the look on Keith’s face when he noticed his blush.

 

_ Lance McClain _ , he thought to himself with an internal groan,  _ you gotta stop before you give yourself a fucking heart attack.  _ They passed near the atrium and Lance stopped, gesturing to a bench against the outer walkway. The pair took a seat, leaving a space between one another.

 

“So, what are you shopping for? You don’t have any bags, have you been here long?”

 

Lance rested his arms on the back of the bench and blew out a sigh, tilting his head back to stare idly up at the people walking by on the floors above them.

 

“I’ve been here for maybe an hour and a half. I’m not actually shopping for anything, I’m just trying to keep myself occupied while I give Takashi some alone time.”

 

“Is he okay?”

 

Lance thought about how to answer that question best and decided on giving a proper explanation. It wasn’t as though Shiro would be upset by Keith learning about him, even if it was a sore subject.

 

“That’s… not an easy question to answer. You remember how he told you that he paints?”

 

Keith nodded, “sure, I remember.” 

 

“Well, he co-hosted an art exhibition with Katie’s brother Matt a few weeks ago and it really didn’t go well. I don’t mean financially, he did get rid of some stuff afterwards, but everybody could tell that his work doesn’t have the same life in it that it used to, I guess.”

 

Keith listened attentively as Lance spoke, nodding and turning his body so that he was facing him. Lance could feel his chest ache as he told him about how he’d watched his face fall, how he’d heard those people talk. It was still bitter, boiling there within him as he pictured those pitying faces.

 

“He’s been trying to figure out why he’s not getting anywhere and why he’s not satisfied with any of his work anymore,” Lance finished, lifting his head, “and I wanted to give him some space to work in peace. It’s hard, sometimes, because I want to make it better and comfort him but I know that he doesn’t want me to try to fix things, he just needs support and space. That’s probably the hardest thing for me to do, it’s just not like me to sit on my hands, so I just have to leave for a while to make sure I don't crowd him.”

 

Keith’s expression was soft, matching the gentle pull of his lips as he listened, “that’s really mature and thoughtful of you, though. I’m sure Shiro appreciates it.”

 

Lance shrugged, his praise lightening the sour feeling he’d been feeling as he remembered the event, “like Takashi says, ‘you do what you can for the people you love.’ But anyway, I actually do have some shopping to do somewhere else; I need to go grocery shopping. Come with me, I’m making dinner tonight and you’re always welcome to join us.”

 

Keith blinked a few times, “oh, okay, sure- if it’s no trouble.”

 

Leaning over, Lance playfully narrowed his eyes, “Keith, if you mention yourself as trouble or a bother again I’m going to have to drop kick you.”

 

“ _ Try _ to drop kick me, you mean, because I’d  _ love _ to see you try,” Keith snickered, smug expression replacing the tentative one he’d worn.

 

“I could give you a run for your money, you don’t know.”

 

Snorting, Keith raised a brow, “in what reality? Surely you don’t mean this one.”

 

“You’re about to talk yourself out of a home cooked meal, mister.”

 

“Oh,” Keith put a hand on his chest, “hitting me where it hurts.”

 

Lance laughed and Keith joined him, the tension he’d been carrying light enough that Lance almost couldn’t sense it any longer. He felt accomplished as he stood, the pair of them beginning a walk back towards the North entrance.

 

“So, what do you like to eat? What’s your favorite food?”

 

“I don’t really have a favorite off the top of my head.”

 

“You’re so full of shit, everybody has a favorite.”

 

“Well nothing is coming to mind. I’m not picky, you don’t need to cook with me in mind.”

 

“Excuse you,” Lance huffed, “I always cook with my guests in mind. But, if you can’t think of anything you’d like to have, I’ll just make one of Takashi’s favorites.”

 

“That sounds like a good plan, it might cheer him up.”

 

“My thoughts exactly.”

  
Their conversation was as easy as if they’d known one another forever, the air between them comfortable and light. Their banter felt natural and Lance found his cheeks hurting from his smile, constant and genuine.


	13. Chapter 13

“Shit.”

 

Shiro’s voice was quiet as he closed his eyes, a long, drawn out sigh breezing through his lips. This wasn’t supposed to be this difficult. The canvas was blank, as blank as it had been when he’d woken up and as blank as it had been two weeks before. Papers littered his desk, their faces covered in discarded half-sketches that didn’t fit his fancy. The supplies that he’d readied were largely untouched, mocking him. When he opened his weary eyes, he finally looked away from the intimidating empty space and down to his hands, unsullied by graphite or paint, as much a failure as he felt. It wasn’t as though he had the desire to paint, no, he didn’t even want to look at the colors, but he had to do something; how could he fix whatever was wrong with his work if he didn’t actually do any work?

 

He missed the _urge_ to paint, the need to see lines become stories and colors become emotion. He missed the high of creation, the joy of a finished piece that had _finally_ turned into something that he could be proud of. Giving up wasn’t an option, he couldn’t allow himself stew in the mediocrity that he knew he’d fallen into. Shiro’s laugh trailed into a groan and he leaned forward in his chair, elbows propped up on his thighs, his face in his hands and his fingers rubbing rhythmically against his temples. The mediocrity that _he_ knew he’d fallen into? More like the mediocrity that _everyone_ knew he’d fallen into.

 

The voices from the exhibition drifted to him often, reminding him of the stagnation that he couldn’t seem to claw his way out of. Lance’s face often appeared in his mind’s eye when he heard them, his anger clouded expression still visible as he tried to pull him away from the sharp criticisms and into a safety bubble made of alcohol. Shiro was thankful for his lover and his worry, but at the same time he felt a pang of bitterness; was he so fragile that he needed a keeper? He pushed the thought away; no, he didn’t disparage Lance’s actions. Without his care, the two of them wouldn’t have completed their brands and, had Shiro remained at the exhibition that night, it’s likely that he would have found himself unable to gather the courage to work for a much longer period of time. He had a track record of falling into hard creative slumps.

 

Memories of the bar during the night of his shared exhibition kept creeping up on him, but the one that kept rearing its head was when Lance had asked him what the endgame was and why he needed the patrons to tell him that his work was good. At the time, Shiro had told him that he had an idea about the root of the problem though he hadn’t shared it. Initially, Shiro had suspected that there just wasn’t enough of himself in each work; that he wasn’t as involved as he needed to be in the process. Was it his mind wandering during the process? The more he tried to force it, the less he could accomplish. Were his internal doubts manifesting as flat interpretations? All he could do was grumble under his breath, pace his workspace, and then sit back down until he became irritated and began the cycle again.

 

Shiro only managed to stare at the canvas, at the pile of disappointing sketches, and at his unhelpful hands for another half an hour before he gave up. In the end, it wasn’t going to help. Standing from his seat, he stretched out his aching back, cracked his neck, and glanced up at the clock. He’d been sitting in that room, doing absolutely nothing useful, for hours. Pushing in his chair, he padded out of the room and down the hall to the living room. After making sure that he hadn’t missed Lance’s entrance in the midst of his self pity session, he dug his phone out of his pocket and dialed his number. The phone rang only twice before it was picked up.

 

“Hey, you.”

 

Shiro smiled. Lance’s voice was an immediate pick-me-up.

 

“Hey yourself. What are you off doing?”

 

“I was at the mall with Allura for a little while but right now I’m at the grocery store with Keith, picking up some things for dinner.”

 

That caught Shiro off guard, especially after the morning that they’d had after Lance’s first glimpse of soulmate side effects. After how worried Keith had seemed initially about meeting with them, it left Shiro breathing a sigh of relief knowing that he still wanted to spend time with them. He hoped that Keith was starting to think of them as friends.

 

“Oh? Did you have fun? And is Keith okay after this morning?”

 

“We did have fun, Allura was going on about how Alfor is going on a cruise and was trying to hint to her about going on one of those cheesy singles cruises, herself.”

 

Snorting, Shiro shook his head in wonder and found himself reclining on the couch, resting his head against the armrest as he let his ankles cross over atop the other. The comfort of his lover’s voice sent the weariness in his bones seeping away little by little.

 

“Poor thing, when is she going to catch a break?”

 

“Your guess is as good as mine; she has the worst luck. And I haven’t actually talked to Keith about it-”

 

Lance’s voice lowered at the same time that Shiro caught brief snippets of Keith’s.

 

“Huh? Oh, Takashi was just asking me if you were okay after the weirdness of this morning. Mmmhmm… Yeah. He says he’s fine, Takashi, but he’s doing that thing where his ears went red so who knows- **OW** , be gentle on the ribs!”

 

Shiro had to conceal a laugh, his mood lifted at their bickering. Had they really only known each other for such a small period of time?

 

“That’s good to hear, I’m glad. Those memories can be a pain in the ass.”

 

“You’re telling me,” Lance huffed, “I just caught an elbow in the ribs.”

 

“You did just tell me he blushed in public, to his face.”

 

“Hey, it’s not my fault his ears are lit up like Christmas lights-OW, OKAY IM DONE!”

 

“You deserved that one,” Shiro laughed, his smile widening, “be good to him or he might not come back. Is he having dinner with us?”

 

“Yes, he is having dinner with us if I haven’t just turned him off of ever hanging out with us again.”

 

“If you’ll quit trying to ruin my image, I’ll have dinner with you,” Keith’s voice came through the speaker just barely loud enough to make out as he spoke to Lance.

 

“So yeah, he’s coming over.”

 

“Hah, sounds good. You two be careful and I’ll see you soon.”

 

“We will be. Love you!”

 

“Love you too. Bye.”

 

Shiro was still smiling as he placed his phone on the coffee table. It was a relief to know that after Lance shared his memory, Keith was still willing to come over. As he lay there, his fingers threaded together over his abdomen, Shiro wondered why he didn’t feel upset, worried, or jealous. It wasn’t as though it were characteristic of him to feel that way, but there had been moments in the past where he might have felt a pang of jealousy when watching Lance at a shoot with another charming model. It never stayed present long, washed away as quickly as Lance could shoot him a smile of his own, but he wouldn’t deny that seeing him with someone else had made him uncomfortable.

 

For some reason, though, he felt perfectly at ease knowing that Lance was with Keith. Not only did he know that he was safe, especially after finding out about his hobby and that he could take care of himself, but he knew exactly how Lance was feeling. After their conversation the night before, and the one they’d had after Keith had left the apartment for work, Shiro wasn’t worried. Was it because they were soulmates, because they knew that they were all tied together? He couldn’t exactly put his finger on it. It was surprising to him to find himself so comfortable after his initial fears over the completion of Lance’s brand. It was amazing, he thought, how his perception had twisted in the days since that one.

 

He lay still for half an hour, letting his mind wander as he took some time to himself to relax. It was nice to allow himself time that wasn’t spent beating himself up over a lack of creative endeavors. It was shortly after that when the door to the apartment jiggled and he heard the sounds of Lance mumbling about door locks before he knocked. Shiro reluctantly forced himself up and padded through the kitchen to unlock the door and hold it open.

 

 _Fuck_. That was the only word he could manage to think of when he opened the door to see them standing together. Lance, as always, was a picture; his affinity for cropped tops and shorts constantly leaving Shiro’s mouth dry and his body aching. The wind had left his hair tousled mostly to one side, and the low evening light left his eyes sultry and inviting. Seeing his Lance standing there with Keith, his muscled arms bare in the form fitting black tank and his matching black joggers riding low on his hips, caused images of that sinful dream to slide tantalizingly through his mind once more. Had breathing always been so hard?

 

“Welcome back,” Shiro managed as he stepped back to allow them inside.

 

“Good to see you, Shiro,” Keith smiled as he walked in carrying the majority of the bags and his backpack, moving towards the sink to place the groceries on the counter

 

“You too, Keith.”

 

Lance lingered longer just within the door, a smug smile spreading over his lips the longer he looked at Shiro.

 

“Come here,” Shiro commanded, his voice low so that only Lance heard him.

 

Lance obeyed, his body pliant to his touch as Shiro pulled him against his chest for a quick taste of his lips. He allowed himself only the briefest of touches before releasing his lover without a word, turning to shut the door behind him. Lance stayed rooted in place for a brief moment, blinking back the glaze from his eyes after his touch.

 

“You want me to just leave these over here?”

 

“Uh,” Lance cleared his throat, “yeah, that’s perfect. You two go sit down and I’ll get started.”

 

Lance shot a glance back to Shiro whose response was a slow, private, smile that he let fall away as he walked to the fridge.

 

“Can I get you something to drink, Keith?”

 

“Water is fine.”

 

Shiro hummed to himself as he gathered two bottles of water from the fridge, handing one to Keith as he took a seat on the opposite side of the couch.

 

“How was work?”

 

“Not bad, busy. The only real break I got was before I left, when Katie came by. I’ll have to check tomorrow to see if she burned the gym down.”

 

“Yikes, rough day?”

 

“She’s too smart for her own good and her clients think she’s an idiot. She comes in to work the stress off.”

 

“I can certainly relate,” Shiro chuckled, raising his water bottle in gesture before taking a sip, “I should use that technique myself.”

 

“Nothing helps channel stress like whooping the ass of a punching bag,” Keith grinned, “I recommend it.”

 

“I’m going to have to do just that.”

 

“How was your day? You were up early too. Or…uh, was that because of the commotion?”

 

‘Christmas tree’ red was a good tint for the tips of Keith’s ears. _So cu_ _te_ , he thought to himself.

 

“No, I was up for work. I had to get to Santa Cruz early to get some equipment for a display that we’re helping with at the exhibition hall. Luckily, that meant that I got to leave early and do some work of my own from home.”

 

“Yeah, Lance mentioned that you were working on your paintings. Is everything going okay in that department?”

 

Shiro didn’t miss the real question he wanted to ask and he had to sigh; there was just no running from it.

 

“Lance told you, huh?”

 

Immediately Keith pursed his lips and averted his gaze, “shit, sorry, I wasn't thinking. If that’s something you wouldn’t want to talk about, I shouldn’t have asked Lance about it-”

 

“Calm down, it’s okay.”

 

Keith looked back to him but he didn’t appear to be convinced.

 

“It’s not something I hide, really, don’t worry about it. I have some ideas but,” Shiro battled with himself trying to find the right words to express it, “but I’m unsatisfied with the methods.”

 

“Wanna talk about it?”

 

“Hell, I barely even know how to articulate it, Keith. All I know is that painting isn’t scratching my itch the way it used to.”

 

Keith’s brows knit and he crossed his arms, “didn’t you tell me yesterday that you used to sculpt? Have you tried that to, like, give yourself a break? I can’t pretend to understand what it’s like to go through that kind of thing creatively, but sometimes I have to do something completely out of my norm to find some kind of peace.”

 

“Like meeting a couple strangers for show and tell?”

 

He had to laugh at Keith’s immediate groan, “No but really, thanks, I hadn’t thought of that. It might be nice to get that kind of involved in the process again.”

 

The more he spoke, the more he was glad that Keith had asked. Even if it didn’t manage to help him find a way out of his slump, it still felt good to know that he had at least one option to try. Sometimes it was nice to have an outside voice to point out the obvious things that he might have missed himself.

 

“Glad I could be some kind of help. Speaking of help- Lance, are you sure you don’t need any help in there?”

 

“I’m sure, don’t worry about me. I would be appreciative if someone could put some TV on in the background, though; I like to listen while I cook.”

 

“You want the usual,” Shiro asked, though he knew he’d say yes.

 

“Yes, please!”

 

“What’s the usual?”

 

“True crime documentary shows. He could watch them for days. I think it’s an obsession.”

 

“Hey, I don’t call you out on your obsession with cooking shows!”

 

“You’re going to wind up talking yourself right out of a German chocolate cake for your birthday,” Shiro countered, turning up the volume after finding one of his shows.

 

“I retreat! White flag! That is cruel and unusual punishment.”

 

“You two are something,” Keith laughed with a sweet smile as his attention bounced between the two of them, the light meeting his eyes, “it’s nice.”

 

 _Your smile is nice_ , Shiro thought as his guest’s attention was taken by the television; it was another good look for him. Their chatter was sporadic as they wasted time until Lance finished, mostly concentrating on wild conspiracy theories for the episode’s culprit while Lance added his own thoughts here and there.

 

“Guys, her boyfriend was in shock. If he had really done it, he would have put on the emotions as a cover, come on!”

 

“Babe, I have nothing but respect for your tenure as a true crime junkie but you are overthinking this one.”

 

“Overthinking? Between you,” Lance gestured over his shoulder with a spoon,” and tin foil hat over there, I’m just being rational.”

 

“Dude, dude,” Keith shook his head, “no, think about it; what if it was her mother in law?”

 

“You win conspiracy theorist of the year, Keith, where did you even get that?”

 

“Okay, no, go with me here-”

 

The rest of the night proceeded with the three of them enjoying their lasagna whilst sitting on the sofa together marathoning true crime shows and roasting Keith for his continuously wild theories. Whether or not he was doing it just to get them to laugh didn't matter; it was fun.

 

“Lance, your lasagna oughta be a sin; that was delicious.”

 

Keith sighed happily as he leaned back, head resting on the back of the sofa.

 

Lance positively lit up the dim living room, his eyes showing all the pleasure that he downplayed with his soft smile. Shiro could see how much his words meant, even if it was just over food; it was precious.

 

“I’m glad you liked it. That’s Takashi’s favorite.”

 

“He spoils me,” Shiro nodded, sliding an arm over Lance’s shoulder to pull him close enough so that he could drop a kiss on the crown of his head, “I’m a lucky man.”

 

Lance melted against his side, “you really are.”

 

The trio laughed, still as they relaxed and allowed their full stomachs to settle.

 

“Thanks for having me over; it was great.”

 

“Friends are welcome here any time, Keith, so don’t be a stranger.”

 

“What he said,” Lance added.

 

“That… That means a lot, thanks.”

 

“Anytime.”

 

“Actually, I wanted to ask you something, Keith.”

 

Shiro pulled his arm away and draped it over the back of the sofa as Lance turned his body to face their guest.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Are you okay? Or, what I mean to say is, were you okay earlier? I’ve been thinking about it since you called and I know you said you were fine but…”

 

All of the light drained from Keith’s face and Shiro sat a little straighter in his seat, his attention focused on him. He knew Lance saw the change but he didn’t back away from his question, choosing to sit quietly and wait on Keith’s answer.

 

“I don’t know. I’ve got some really weird stuff happening in my life right now and I’m not dealing with it too great.”

 

“Can we help?”

 

Keith’s fingers clenched and unclenched several times against the fabric of the sofa and he swallowed hard.

 

“Even if we can’t help,” Shiro added, “it might make it easier if you talk to someone about it. It doesn’t have to be us, but whatever it is looks like it hit you like a bus.”

 

“...It would be a long story.”

 

“We’ve got nothing but time.”


	14. Chapter 14

The lasagna in Keith’s stomach turned to ash and he fought rising waves of nausea as he tried to think of where to start. He’d had no intention of actually mentioning the situation with the investigator when he’d called Lance and he’d certainly not had any intention of spilling his guts to these new friends. One of the top ten commandments in the Keith Kogane rulebook was ‘ _don’t scare away people who actually seem to like your shut-in ass_.’

 

It didn’t help that they were looking at him so attentively that it glued his lips shut, their undivided attention like a spotlight that left him no room to run. He cleared his throat and searched for the right way to begin, wishing they’d look anywhere but at him. 

 

“So, remember me telling you that I aged out of foster care?”

 

Lance and Shiro both nodded.

 

“When I was young, I remember my dad and I constantly moving around the country. I don’t know why we were all over the place, I just remember that it happened after a fire destroyed our house and killed my mom.”

 

Shiro’s gaze was the first to be lost to him as he became still, his expression as far away as his mind, and Keith remembered that he’d lost both of his parents in an accident; he knew his pain.

 

“There was one place, though, where we stayed for a long time. We were holed up in Oregon for two years in some dump off the beaten path,” Keith laughed bitterly, remembering the holes in the crooked screen door and the worn shutters that had been a spider’s thread away from falling right off of the house, “I mean, really guys, this place was a trainwreck. That house is why I recognized your blackberry flowers, Shiro; there was this big field nearby that was full of’em.”

 

“Out in the boondocks?”

 

“Mmhmm,” he nodded to Shiro’s question, “outnumbered by bugs and alcoholics. Well, my dad started coming home messed up, with bruises or a busted lip, smelling like the inside of a keg. Sometimes when we were low on cash, he’d hustle cards and I guess he was starting to lose his touch. We didn’t talk much, just tried to survive. At the end of the second year, he dropped me off at some guy’s house. I knew him a little, enough to know that he worked with dad sometimes, but not enough to be dropped at his door. Dad told me to behave and do as I was told; haven’t seen him since.”

 

Oh, how quickly a child had lost the idealism of youth. Just saying the words aloud reminded him of just how much larger than life his dad had been and how quickly he’d fallen. The breath of spring in a new surrounding had been like the pages of a new book, crisp and energizing. He’d been so ready to explore it all, to chart his adventures with his hero. 

 

Keith paused, taking a breath and unclenching his jaw, “but he’s not the problem. I made my peace with that a long time ago, all of it really, but there was one thing that bothered me: my mom. It had always bugged me about what happened, not the fire but the way that dad reacted afterward. I thought that it was just guilt, but even during those years we were in Oregon, he refused to talk about her at all. It wasn’t like she was dead, it was like she never existed.”

 

“Grief… Grief has funny ways of messing with people,” Shiro offered softly, “messes with your head.”

 

Lance pulled his lover’s hand down onto his lap and held it tightly with both of his own, silently nodding his agreement to Keith.

 

“See, I thought that too, but something about it just seemed… wrong. I dwelt on it for a long time before I let it go. That old man took care of me as best he could but he never talked about my dad or my life before then; hell, he didn’t really talk much at all. When he died, I was sent through foster care and, eventually, aged out. I didn’t think about mom too much after that. Up until the week before we all met, I’d been too busy working to think about anything else.”

 

“Does this have something to do with what happened when we were at that restaurant? About whoever was watching you?”

 

He grimaced, “yeah, actually. He’s a private investigator and he’d called me a few weeks earlier to tell me that he’d been looking into me. He, uh, said he was searching for me on behalf of my mother.”

 

Both Shiro and Lance’s eyebrows shot up into their hairlines.

 

Lance straightened, blue eyes hardening to steel, “Did you check him out? His credentials?”

 

“He’s legit but, more than that, he really did his homework on me. At first, I thought he had the wrong guy but, if he did, he would have known after the mountain of information he’d sifted through.”

 

“And that fits with you worried that what you’d been told about your mom wasn’t the whole story,” Shiro inferred, pursing his lips, “that’s a hell of a situation.”

 

“You’re telling me,” Keith laughed weakly, a defeated weariness spreading through his limbs as he sighed, “I actually caught him photographing me one morning after Lance told me what to look for… I almost made him eat that camera.”

 

Shiro smirked, “I know what that’s like; I’ll tell you the story sometime. So, what happened?”

 

“I told him to leave me alone and that my mom was dead.”

 

“But you don’t really think that’s how it went down,” Lance countered, “and if you really felt that way, you wouldn’t be telling this story.”

 

“I did, though,” Keith shook his head, remembering the weight he’d felt lift off of his shoulders as he’d walked away, missing that momentary surety, “until this afternoon.”

 

The living room was deathly quiet as his hosts waited for him to continue with bated breath.

 

“When I got to my apartment, there was an envelope with my name on it,” he recounted as he moved to fish his phone out of his pocket, swiping to get to his photos, “and this was the only thing inside.”

 

Lance took the phone he offered and gasped, zooming in as he looked from the saved image of Krolia Kogane to Keith and back again. Shiro peered down at the photo from over Lance’s shoulder and did the same.

 

“She,” Lance started, pausing for a brief few seconds before finding the rest of his words, “she looks like you.”

 

“You think it’s her,” Shiro murmured, his eyes burrowing straight into the truth of Keith’s heart.

 

He could only gesture choppily towards the phone Lance still held, “look at her and tell me you don’t see it.”

 

With the slow delivery of a man carefully picking his words, Shiro looked at the photo once more before speaking.

 

“There are only so many facial constructions in the universe, Keith, and it’s not impossible to find one that looks like yours.”

 

“There’s more, isn’t there? Some reason that this woman speaks to you? I can’t imagine that you’d be so willing to think that this is her without something else,” Lance noted with a tilt of his head.

 

“I… Some of the fuzzy memories that I have  _ made sense _ when I saw her. I don’t know how to explain it to you but I think it’s her.”

 

Keith closed his eyes for a few seconds, drawing in several long, deep breaths before looking back to them. While there was a great deal of freedom in offloading on them, at once he felt guilty.

 

“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m heaping this on both of you. My head’s been kinda foggy since this whole thing started and it’s getting to me. I didn’t mean to get you involved too.”

 

The more he spoke, the worse he felt. He was a grown ass man yet he couldn’t deal with his own problems without spilling them on others.  _ You fucking disaster _ , he growled at himself internally as he pushed off of the couch and projected what he hoped was a convincing smile, _ they have enough to deal with without your daddy issues and insecurities; grow up. _

 

“Y’know, I should probably be going anyway. It’s stupid of me to sit here bitching.” he continued, “I-”

 

“Keith,” Shiro called to him as he matched his motion and stood, stepping past Lance to put a heavy hand on Keith’s shoulder, “sit down and  _ calm _ down. This ‘share and then run for the hills’ thing is beneath you. Stop worrying-”

 

“What would you know about what’s beneath me,” Keith snapped back, sucking in a sharp breath when he heard the steel in his own voice. 

 

They stood still, tense, locked in the middle of a staring contest. At least, they were both still until Lance, who was still seated on the couch, raised his hand and redirected their attention.

 

“According to an early morning flashback, I know of at least one thing that’s been beneath you.”

 

The apartment was dead silent for a brief moment before Shiro face-palmed and Keith had to sink down onto the couch and out of Shiro’s touch, burying his face in both hands to the laughing groan of, “ _ goddamnit, Lance _ .”

 

“Heh, thought that might work.”

 

“You’re going to give me an aneurysm,” Shiro sighed heavily, a sentiment that Keith shared as he lifted his head.

 

“Me too.”

 

“I work with what I’ve got,” Lance shrugged, “in any case- Keith, I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t prepared to deal with the answer. Do you think you can’t trust us?”

 

If their attention hadn’t been paralyzing before, it was then. 

 

“It’s not that I don’t trust you.”

 

“Then what is it?”

 

Keith opened his mouth and then shut it. How the hell was he supposed to say, ‘sorry, I’m really not over being abandoned and being this open means that I’m especially vulnerable if you abandon me too’ without sounding like an idiot? How could he even justify that when he was the one who’d tried to ignore them in the first place? 

 

“Opening up to people is rare for me.”

 

“We won’t say anything or make any suggestions unless that’s what you want,” Shiro promised, “you can just vent if you need to. Don’t worry about any blowback from things you share with us; that’s not who we are and we wouldn't do that to you.”

 

Their continued kindness etched a deep, winding, valley into the thick wall he kept around himself. He had the distinct feeling that he would wind up choking in the rubble of it, at this rate.

 

“I…” He swallowed and gave them the nearest thing he could find to a smile, “thanks, really. I’m not great at this kinda thing.”

 

“‘Thing’ being healthy friendships,” Lance asked with a playful smile that disarmed his would-be defensiveness.

 

“Yeah, there’s a reason I only have like one.”

 

“You can add two more, you know.” 

 

Awkwardly, Keith rubbed at his neck, “yeah, I think I will.”

 

“Good,” Lance beamed, a gigawatt smile replacing his put-on pout, “so, wanna stop talking about it or do you want to keep going?”

 

“There’s really not much else to say, Lance. What would you guys do if you were me? I mean, after all of that.”

 

“I’d have to call her,” Shiro shrugged, “it would probably bug me to no end thinking that it could be her. If nothing else, you’d probably be able to find out pretty quick whether or not it was a scam. I know that you said you were young but something might click when you talk to her and I’d think closure to any end would be good for you.”

 

“Yeah, I think he’s right. I mean, even if you don’t remember any specific times with her, you might remember something when hear her voice. I would go in cautious and not reveal too much on your end; let her do the work. If she says something that doesn’t fit with what you remember then just hang up and block the call. Really, you don’t lose anything except some time.”

 

“Are you afraid of being right? That it is her?”

 

Keith chewed on the inside of his cheek, thinking about their answers.

 

“...I am. For the longest time, my dad was my hero. I guess I just don’t want to know there was something else he fucked me over on.” Keith crossed his arms and leaned his head back, staring at the textured ceiling, “Plus, how does my life change after deciding it is her, if it is? How does somebody react when they find out their should-be-dead mom is perfectly fine somewhere? And how do I react after the shock of that?”

 

“Only one way to find out.”

 

“I knew you would say that, Shiro,” he grumbled, glancing over at him only to get a wink in response.

 

“Are you okay going home tonight? I mean, you worried me when I heard your voice over the phone and I don't really like the idea of you being alone and having to deal with all of that if it’s getting you like this,” Lance frowned, searching his face.

 

Keith raised a brow and the corner of his mouth but couldn’t deny that he was touched by his thoughtfulness, “I’m not a kid, Lance, and I’ve had my fair share of troubles before. I’ll be fine, but I do want you to know that I really appreciate you listening and thinking about me, both of you. That means a lot.”

 

“Anytime, Keith, we mean it. We’ve got a perfectly good pull-out couch if you change your mind.”

 

“And I promise that I’ll try not to have a freak out and weird everyone out before breakfast if you take us up on it!”

 

“Man, that  _ was _ wild,” Keith laughed, thankful for the subject change, “were you okay after, by the way? That headache feels like an icepick to the brain. I would have asked before I left but, uh, I was flustered.”

 

Lance’s skin pinkened slightly but he was all smiles when he singsonged, “that headache was a total bitch.”

 

Keith snorted, “and?”

 

“And I’m just happy that I finally got to see something, even if it meant that the morning was a little awkward and included a brain melting headache.”

 

“Man, you are something else.”

 

“I know,” Lance sighed dramatically, “it’s just who I am.”

 

“Drama Queen,” Shiro smirked before reaching out to muss Lance’s hair.

 

“All of us have to have a flaw.”

 

Rolling his eyes, Shiro looked over to Keith and nodded towards the TV, “wanna stay a while and binge?

 

He fought the urge to say, ‘please yes’, and shook his head.

 

“I’d love to but I think I should get home. I want to do some more thinking about this now that I’ve batted it around a little.”

 

Lance wasn’t able to hide his worry, the tilt to his default smile weakening under the burden of it, “you sure? Like, really really sure?”

 

“Worried about me?”

 

His tone was teasing but it didn’t lift Lance’s smile. 

 

“Yes.”

 

“Dude,” Keith dipped his head, trying to get the full attention of downcast eyes, “I’m okay.”

 

“You wouldn’t admit it if you weren’t,” grumbled his white knight.

 

Shiro didn’t say a word, watching the exchange quietly. Keith wondered if he was waiting for Lance’s worry to con him into staying so that they could keep a protective eye on him. The moron side of his brain almost considered siding with them; if nothing else, he might get to see one of them half naked again. 

 

“I wouldn’t,” he agreed easily, “but I give you my word that I’m okay. If you count on anything, count on that.”

 

“...Okay,” Lance started, his voice raising to stop Keith before he could say anything else, “BUT if you decide you aren’t, I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night- I want you to call.”

 

“You’ll be the first to know, okay?”

 

Lance’s shoulders relaxed gradually and he relented with the sad eyes, much to Keith’s relief, “I’ll take it. Let me get you some leftovers. If nothing else, it works as comfort food.”

 

He was off the couch in a blink, long, slender, legs carrying him nimbly across the apartment. 

 

“Thank you and, y’know, thanks for listening.”

 

“Anytime.”

 

Shiro watched him with some degree of thoughtfulness as he rose from his seat, his face tilted just so as his eyes narrowed degree by degree. It was easy to feel it there, the pressure of knowing. In that moment, Keith was sure that Shiro knew he was planning to call the woman when he got home. Shiro must have also known, then, that he wouldn’t be fine no matter how it went. Each step through the living room, each step through the kitchen, Keith waited for Shiro to call out to him and ask. 

 

“Keith?”

 

He paused mid-step as he neared the door to grab his things and wait on Lance who was preparing a bowl for him, “yes?”

 

There was a pregnant pause.

 

“Have a safe drive.”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Okay, here you go,” Lance announced, thrusting a heavy bowl of leftovers into his hands, “don’t forget to eat.”

 

“You’re going to make me fat.”

 

“That,” he snorted as he gave Keith an openly appreciative once-over, “would be a feat. Be careful.”

 

“Yeah, I will be. Later you two. Lock the door behind me, Lance.”

 

Shiro raised a hand from the couch and Lance just sent him on his way with his usual Lancey smile, narrow hip leaned against the kitchen table as he watched him go. It took a little more effort with each footfall, the idea of returning to his apartment less and less appealing. Keith forced himself out the door and down the hall, returning to the bike parked beside Lance’s car. There was no question that going home was the right decision, he certainly couldn’t have an after-phone-call meltdown in someone else’s apartment, though he was dreading every mile of the journey home. 

 

Not even music could help quiet the constant chatter of his brain, the endless questions and mounds of worry. What was he going to say? What was she going to say? There was just nothing to liken the feeling to. By the time he got back to his apartment, his entire body was vibrating with nerves. Keith sat his helmet on the table and took a seat on the couch, passing his cell phone between both hands as he stared at the image of her that looked back at him from the coffee table. Why was it so hard to make himself dial?

 

“ _Goddamnit_ ,” he muttered, taking a deep breath, “just do it!”

 

Every muscle in his body protesting, Keith dialed the number scrawled across the bottom of the photograph and held the phone to his ear. His mouth tasted of bile as the ringing started, nausea building with each one until his entire body was left frozen. She picked up on the fourth ring.

 

“Hello?”


	15. Chapter 15

 

Keith sat as still as stone, muscles tense, his grip tight on the phone. Her voice…

 

“Hello?”

 

His mouth worked wordlessly, opening and closing twice before he could manage to clear his throat. 

 

“Hello, I’m-” He coughed, forcing down a hint of bile as he struggled with the words, “-I’m calling for Krolia.”

 

The sounds came out with all the finesse of a rusted tinman, forced through his mouth by sheer force of will and edged with uncertainty. From the other end, he could hear a hitch in her breathing, a small stuttering intake. She didn’t reply immediately.

 

“Keith?”

 

Tentatively, his name was murmured into the receiver like a whispered prayer. He licked his dry lips, unoccupied hand clenching and unclenching against his thigh. It was there, raking at his consciousness like a cat pawing under a closed door- Her voice took an appearance of a half shadow, but the part that he could see fit into those fuzzy memories like a once-lost puzzle piece. He didn’t want to say for certain, he was too fearful to, but he didn’t doubt her. 

 

“Yes, this is Keith.”

 

Keith remembered Shiro’s advice that he not give too much away, that he let her do the work. He was determined to remain as calm, as clipped, as detached as he could. He couldn’t afford to let his heart overtake his brain. 

 

“I didn’t think you’d call.”

 

Her voice was soothing, he thought as she spoke, soothing and melodic. It was cool, not forcefully rich or high; it put him at ease the more he heard it. Her voice would have been the background music of his childhood if he’d actually had one, and it did make him wonder what kind of mother she would have been if they hadn’t been separated. Was she an adventurer, taking in the world with her kid on her shoulders? Did she prefer the couch, snuggled up watching Disney movies and forming a duet with an energetic young son? PTA and pizza? Board games and blanket forts? Park runs and hikes with a family dog? The more he wondered, the more robbed he felt. The more robbed he felt, the dumber he felt for thinking about it in the first place. So much for letting his brain lead the way.

 

“I wasn’t going to,” he responded honestly.

 

“What changed your mind?”

 

Allowing himself some room to relax, Keith leaned back against the sofa and kicked his feet up on the coffee table. Tipping his head back, he stared up at the textured ceiling.

 

“That guy you hired to stalk me was a giant pain in the ass and I wanted to get this out of the way.”

 

There was a tail of resignation along her deep sigh, “yeah, I’m sorry. I told him to leave you alone weeks ago.”

 

“You definitely got your money’s worth out of him- he was like a parasite.”

 

“He gets that a lot,” she grumbled dryly, “but he’s thorough and I needed to find you.”

 

“Why?”

 

It was out before he could reign it in.

 

“Why? What do you mean  _ why _ ? You’re my  _ son _ and you just vanished! You two were supposed to come back once everything was settled with the house but… you didn’t. Am I not supposed to want to know my son is safe? Or know where he is?”

 

The bitterness was quick to rear its head, roaring its tired song. 

 

“Then why did it take you so long,” he demanded, his clenching hand pinching the skin of his thigh as the memories of that quiet, dark, hole in Oregon taunted him, “clearly I wasn’t that hard to find.”

 

The anger of a young man, aged beyond his years, burst to life in his heart. More than ever he could feel the pressurized silence and wrenching loneliness prying the stitches from the old wounds, airing the fragile fears to the world once more. He was more acutely aware of how empty and dark his apartment was, then.

 

“Are you kidding? You were hell to track. I only got a trace of you a few years ago.”

 

“Years? And you only reached out to me now?”

 

“Keith, I had no idea what you’d been told about me and I knew that if I didn’t go about it the right way then I might push you away for good. I needed time to find the best way to approach you.”

 

“Time? You’d had plenty of that.”

 

“Hey,” her voice hardened, the cool becoming chilly, “I did the best I could with what I had. I finally found you and I gave you the information you needed to decide on your own. Do you have any idea how hard it is to give you control of this? I lost you for years and yet you’re the one who gets to decide what happens next? It’s maddening Keith, that you get the option to pick a world without me in it but I don’t get a choice. You can be as pissed off as you want to be about what happened,  _ God knows I still am _ , but you picked up the phone and called me. If you want to bridge this gap as much as I do, then let’s do it together. The past is shitty but that doesn’t mean the future has to be. If you called just to let me have it over something that I didn’t do to you, go ahead and make it quick because I have better things to do; I’m not going to grovel.”

 

Later, when he would replay their conversation over in his mind for the hundredth time, he would admire her for standing up for herself even in such a precarious situation. 

 

“So what is it that you want? What do you expect from this? Are we supposed to learn how to play house again, because I feel like I’m too old to start asking you for Cheerios and a juice box.”

 

“Jesus Christ kid,” Krolia groaned, “it’s like pulling teeth with you. I want to get to know you again. If it’s possible, I just want a relationship with my son. Is that too much to ask?”

 

What did that mean to him? Keith fell quiet for several long moments.

 

“I think you know that I want to believe you are who you claim to be,” he measured his words carefully, “but you haven’t actually given me any information to back that up.”

 

“What do you want to know? What can I tell you that will make it easier?”

 

“How did we actually end up separated? You mentioned earlier that there was a fire and that dad was supposed to take me away for a little while? Why?”

 

She mumbled something under her breath that he couldn’t quite make out but continued before he could ask.

 

“Your father was supposed to take you away for a little while. I was in the hospital after the fire and it wasn’t safe for the three of us to be in the same place.”

 

That had Keith’s full attention and instantly he was ramrod straight in his seat.

 

“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t it be safe? Was he into shady shit? Was there some kind of motive behind the house burning? I was lead to believe it was an accident-” Keith broke off to snort derisively at himself, “-but I was also lead to believe you were dead so what do I know.”

 

“So he did... He really told you that I died?”

 

Her voice had changed again, softened-no, broken a little. Keith felt guilt wash over him, trying to imagine what that must feel like for her.

 

“He said that there was a fire,” he said softly, “and that it took you with the house.”

 

“Jackass,” she whispered, almost to herself, before she spoke up again. “Your dad did his best, Keith, but we ran into some rough spots and he fell in with some people to try and get us out of them.”

 

“Do you know where he is now, too? Do you know if he’s okay, or what happened to him?”

 

There was a heavy, crushing, pause and he felt his shoulders droop.

 

“I’m sorry Keith but I don't know all that much about his position right now- I have someone looking into him but you were my priority.”

 

He wanted desperately to know that it was the truth, but she had yet to give him anything he could actually validate.

 

“Give me something, anything, to prove to me who you are. Something that you couldn’t look up.”

 

After a few choice curses that weren’t hid very well _ at all _ , Krolia gave in.

 

“Your dad has a hitch in his right leg from where he was working in an autobody shop in his twenties and there was an accident with a jack that left him pinned under a Monte Carlo. He can lie up a beautiful story in ten seconds flat and you’d believe every word because he’s just the kind of guy you wanted to believe in. When a black cat crosses in front of him while he’s driving, he marks an X on the left corner of the windshield even though he isn’t much for superstition. His favorite milkshakes are chocolate-cherry but he always spits out the cherries- he likes the way it makes the milkshake taste but he doesn’t like the actual texture of cherries. His favorite playing card is the King of Hearts because that’s what they called him in high school. Contrary to what he might tell you, it had nothing to do with his ‘quarterback stud’ status and everything to do with a pair of boxers on prom night. Is that good enough for you?”

 

Keith pursed his lips as the tiny sliver of doubt in his brain melted away and the realization that this was her, really her, smacked him in the face. It was worse, somehow, that it was real. There was panic then, a deep gripping panic that made it hard to think. He should be happy, ecstatic! He didn’t know how to be her son and he didn’t know how to meet the expectations of a woman who had pined for his return for years. He could barely handle starting friendships, how was he supposed to build a relationship with a stranger?

 

“Save this number,” he managed to say, “I’ll call you again.”

 

She didn’t ask for him to stay on the line or try to stop him.

 

“I’ll be here when you do,” Krolia said simply.

 

Keith pulled his feet down and sat his phone face down on the coffee table, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his thighs. A black veil curtained his face as he dipped his head and closed his eyes. There was just so much within him, so many conflicting emotions that no single one could lead. Fear of the unknown, renewed sorrow at the thoughts of his father and the mystery of his circumstance, a burgeoning sliver of hope and tendrils of guilt. A connection to his past had been zapped back into his life, setting all of his half-assed coping aflame in the process. Krolia was there now, a fixture that was unavoidable, and the world that he’d carefully built up around him continued to crumble. The man who had been almost completely alone, shielded inside his self-erected walls, now faced challengers on all sides. 

 

What was he to do?

  
  


* * *

 

  
“How can you even be comfortable like that?”

 

Katie didn’t bat an eye, her gaze glued to the screen while she furiously pushed buttons beneath a reflective layer of green, “sleeping bags are super comfy.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Keith drawled, eyeing her, “but you look like a moldy baked potato and I’m starting to worry that you might suffocate with that hood pulled up around your face.”

 

“I’m a cocoon of fury.”

 

“A precursor to the world’s most evil butterfly.”

 

“Side note, moths are just evil butterflies.”

 

All he could do was blink before shaking his head furiously.

 

“Wha- No, I’m not even going to ask.”

 

“I see you’re finally learning,” Katie nodded sagely from the security of her fully zipped sleeping bag, wiggling a hand up from the depths of the material to produce several teddy grams that she promptly stuffed into her mouth, “‘bout time.”

 

“You are so weird.”

 

“Mm!” Katie hurriedly swallowed the cookies and coughed, clearing her throat, “speaking of weird-”

 

“-I  **_so_ ** don’t even want to know.”

 

“-why is there actual food in your refrigerator?”

 

“Oh, Lance sent me back with leftovers.”

 

There was a very deliberately dramatic head turn as Pidge paused the game, narrowed eyes shifting to him from the ridiculously small opened hole of her sleeping bag.

 

“We agreed not to get into the mom thing but we made no such agreements about your new boy toys. You went back over there?”

 

“Yeah, I was a little freaked out when I found her picture taped on my door so I called Lance and we hung out at the mall for a while before we went back to their place, ate, and watched investigative discovery.”

 

Pidge blinked, “so much of that was like a foreign language and you didn’t even reject the boy toy tag. What is happening right now?”

 

“Which part was hard for you, moth, I’ll dumb it down. I don’t reject it because you’d hound me either way and it’s fun to take the wind out of your sails by not rising to the bait.”

 

“You’re telling me that you, Keith Kogane- king of ‘Let Me Live in my Bubble’-actually spent time at a human mall, with an attractive human male, and went back to his house to hang out with him and his also attractive other half to watch people talk about murder?”

 

Keith bit down on a laugh, “that about sums it up, yeah.”

 

“Ho-ly shit, I’ve heard it all.”

 

“Why is that weird? I’m allowed to have friends.”

 

“I’m the one who had to tell you that, you emotionally stunted manbaby! Wow, I need time to process this.”

 

“So dramatic.”

 

“No, really, it’s crazy to see you actually like someone enough to hang out with them. Not counting me of course, I’m a delight.”

 

“Obviously.”

 

Her expression softened and she reached up to pull the hood of her sleeping bag down, “it is nice to see you making friends though. How are they?”

 

He could feel himself color a little, “I’m a grown man, not a shy kid. They’re really cool, I like hanging out with them.”

 

“You are a shy kid in a grown man’s body. I’m glad you like them, half because you need more friends and half because they’re friends of my family so it kinda makes us all connected and that’s neat.”

 

Keith reached over and mussed her hair, cackling when she couldn’t dislodge her arms fast enough to stop him, “you’re such a softy.”

 

“Yeah yeah, don’t go tellin’ anybody about it though,” she huffed, though she was still smiling “anyways, I am happy about that. We should all hang out sometime- I’ll even bring Matt if I can find his leash.”

 

“I’m sure they’d be cool with that.”

 

“Have you guys figured out anymore with the brands?”

 

“Not yet, soon maybe.”

 

He was thankful that she’d been willing to come over. After his conversation with Krolia, Keith had been left to the endless churning of his mind and the places that he visited there in the darkness weren’t places that he could stomach yet. Initially, he’d pulled up Lance’s contact information but had exited out; those two had already put up with enough of his whining for one night. Katie hadn’t needed more than a single sentence to be on her way, walking through his doorway half an hour later with her sleeping bag (because his blankets all ‘“sucked and smelled like cardboard box”), a backpack full of junk food, and the determination to see her best friend through the night. 

 

After a cursory rundown of the night's events, she’d been more than willing to let her questions go until he felt comfortable talking about it and he’d never been more thankful for her. 

 

“Can I ask you a question about them?”

 

“Shoot.”

 

“Do you feel anything weird when you’re around them? I was reading up on soulmate stuff- I was sleep deprived and bored, don’t read into it- and some people talked about how there was some kind of delayed attraction. Not like ‘lets bone’, more like they feel like they’ve been friends for a long time.”

 

Keith hummed, smiling a little to himself, “there’s plenty of weird things around them. For one, there are these weird flashback/dream things that you can have apparently. It’s very twilight zone, very you. But yeah, I kinda get that. I’m weirdly comfortable around the two of them.”

 

Their apartment made him feel safe and all the spaces they occupied felt warm and homey. Talking to them felt natural even when the topics were awkward. 

 

She nodded, “that’s what I thought. It was kinda surprising to see you get chummy so fast.”

 

“Why the interest?”

 

He was surprised when she blew out a small sigh, lips pursed, “I was just curious as to what that’s like.”

 

Her eyes were downcast and she was somewhere else just then, brows knitting slightly while her hands fiddled inside her sleeping bag cocoon. 

 

“Want to talk about it?”

 

“...Not yet. It’s been on my mind though.”

 

He knew better than to pry. He did, however, make a mental note to check in on that later.

 

“Maybe when we all hang out we’ll pinball you into a couple of randos and see what lady luck has to say about that mysterious other half of yours, eh?”

 

Pidge chuckled when Keith gave her a soft nudge, flying back to the present with all embarrassed smiles, “yeah, whatever.”

 

“With your luck, it’ll be something stupid like a hot cryptid.”

 

“What the hell does a hot cryptid look like?”

 

“I don't know… Mothman?”

 

She snorted, her grin back up to full wattage as she shook her head.

 

“Lance and Shiro got the shit end of the stick in the soulmate lottery.”

 

“Shut up and unpause the game.”

 

While he did have them, he didn’t ask her any more questions. It was rare that she was so open, even with him, and he wouldn’t push her when she’d done him the same courtesy. Keith watched her off an on, noting that she would get that faraway look in her eyes every so often as their conversation ebbed and flowed. She didn’t speak any more on the topic, but he did catch her looking over towards her arm where he knew her brand was. Keith was reminded of Lance and Aces, where he’d told him how much it had meant to him to have his brand complete. 

 

He’d never put much stock into the markings but he was beginning to see some of the appeal. If nothing else, he did feel richer for the experience of getting to know them; he hoped she would reap that experience too. Their easy camaraderie eased the tension from his shoulders and, for the first time all day, Krolia was the furthest thing from his mind.


End file.
